


Love is Red

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Actor AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Actors Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen have known each other for years.  They’ve never been more than acquaintances.  Yet when they are cast opposite each other in an unusual romantic drama about astronauts on the first mission to Mars, the sparks of attraction might just flare up into a bright red fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with my off-hand remark that a story from Mindy Kaling’s latest book would make for a great Olicity actor AU. The interest was high and people nudged me to write it myself, so here we are. But since I’m me, it’s going to take us a while for that inspiration scene to be in the fic. So I hope you enjoy the ride until then!
> 
> Many thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for her help in plotting this and brainstorming Oliver and Felicity’s movie. melsanfo came up with the title and made a suggestion that was invaluable. andcreation served as cheerleader. 
> 
> Since I’m posting as I write, there is no set schedule for updating this fic. Hopefully you won’t have to wait long for the next chapter!

“Felicity!  It's so great to see you!  And you are looking amazing.”

With a small smile, Felicity returned the hug from Sebastian Blood, an assistant producer at Camelot Productions.  A month ago, he wouldn't have known her name, let alone have called her for this meeting.  Pretty amazing what happened when, after four years of playing best friend parts, the little indie movie you had starred in was nominated for a bunch of Golden Globes--including for your performance.

“Thanks, Sebastian.  You look great, too--so . . . tan.”

Sebastian laughed.  “Just back from Palm Springs.  I've got a house down there--you should come stay some weekend.”  

“I've never been to Palm Springs,” Felicity replied, doing her best to sound calm.  She knew it wasn't a sincere invite: he was inviting her to put her at ease, or to be able to tell people that he had her at his house, since the invitation was enough to say she had visited him.

Oh, Hollywood.

“We’ll have to fix that,” Sebastian said as he turned to the other man in the room.  “Felicity, this is Malcolm Merlyn, head of Camelot Productions.”  

“Mr. Merlyn,” Felicity said, holding her hand out to him.  

Malcolm Merlyn, now in his early sixties, looked younger than his years, like so many did in this town.  His face was smooth and unlined, his hair dark and without a sign of gray.  He stood up, shaking her hand.  “Ms. Smoak.  It’s a pleasure.  Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair.

“Would you like anything to drink?  Water, smoothie, kale juice?” Sebastian offered as Felicity took a seat.

“No, I'm fine.  Trying to cut back on green drinks,” Felicity said with a laugh.  A laugh that Sebastian responded to, a beat too late, while Malcolm didn’t bother to respond.  He only leaned back in his chair, watching her.

“Wanting to get down to business,” Sebastian said with a toothy smile.  The smile dropped, Sebastian adopting his best attempt at a serious expression.  “Felicity, I've been a fan of yours from the very beginning of your career.  So the Golden Globe nomination--and the Oscar buzz--couldn't have happened to someone more deserving.”

Her cheeks flushed, as they did whenever anyone mentioned the nomination.  “It's so great to be nominated, with so many other wonderful actresses.  I'm sure I'm a long shot.”

“I'm hearing good things.  ‘The next J. Law’ is getting thrown around about you,” Sebastian said.  “Which is why your next project is so important.  And I think I have just the ticket for you.”

Given that Camelot Productions produced big-budget action epics and soppy tear-jerkers, Felicity wasn't sure if Sebastian had just the ticket for her.  But her agent was so thrilled to have producers calling to take meetings with her, rather than Tommy calling and begging for Felicity to be seen, she had let him take all the requests.  Glancing over at Malcolm, Felicity shifted her eyes back to Sebastian.

“I know you've done a lot of romcoms, but this one is different, Felicity.  A young woman, competing for a spot on the first mission to Mars.  There's this guy she's competing with, but they both end up on the mission, spending months traveling to the red planet.  It's perfect for you.  You'll get to be the girl getting the guy!”

“It certainly sounds . . . interesting,” Felicity hedged.  Because honestly, on the surface, it didn’t sound that different from any other romcom she had done or had ever been done.  

Sebastian waved his hand in the air.  “No, it sounds like crap, I bet you’re thinking.  But it's being written by Lyla Michaels.  The woman's voice is incredibly strong.  And her husband, John Diggle, is directing.”

Felicity leaned back in her chair.  That changed things.  Because Lyla Michaels was an incredibly talented writer: insightful, empathetic, and ballsy.  And John Diggle was reported as being an expert at getting strong performances from the actors he directed.  His last two movies had been critical and commercial hits.

“When's the script going to be ready?” Felicity asked.

“Lyla is handing in her final draft by the end of the week.  The woman is a workhorse, turns out pages so fast.”  Sebastian tilted his head to the side.  “So you're considering it?”

“I think just one of the Michaels-Diggle team is enough to make someone consider a project.  You get both and . . . well, they're everyone’s dream team, aren't they?” Felicity replied, pushing up her glasses.  

She looked over at Malcolm again, wondering if it meant anything that he was staying so quiet.  Not that she minded.  She could handle Sebastian.  Malcolm, though?  

Sebastian snapped his fingers.  “Dream team, exactly!  One behind the camera, to go with the one in front of it.”

Chuckling softly, Felicity said, “And I'd make up one half of this on-camera dream team?”

“You sure would.  And opposite you, playing your love interest, we're targeting Ollie Queen.”

She felt the smile on her face freeze.  Ollie Queen?  Of _Big Trouble in Little Hoboken_ and _Commando of Death_?

“So you know him!” Sebastian said, making Felicity realize she had said that part out loud.

“I do . . . I mean, we have the same agent,” she said, scrambling for her composure.  “We're friendly.”

Which was a bit of an understatement.  She had known Oliver ever since she had come to LA from Vegas, a young struggling actress looking for her big break.  When she signed with Tommy Merlyn, he had introduced her to his best friend, Ollie Queen.  Over the years, he had started calling himself Oliver, but little else had changed about him.  Other than him getting even more handsome and ripped.

Oliver was . . . he wasn't a coworker, since they had never appeared in a movie together.  They were kind of friends, since they had talked a lot at parties thrown by Tommy, and had even gone to a few industry functions together, usually with other clients of Tommy's.  But Felicity didn't have his number and they certainly didn't talk much about their lives outside of their jobs.  All she really knew about Oliver was that he had a younger sister he adored, he came from money, and he had been best friends with Tommy since practically birth.

So she didn't know what he was, really.  Other than apparently a prospective co-star, in a movie that sounded really interesting thanks to the off-screen talent.  But Oliver had done nothing but action movies for as long as she knew him.  Could Oliver act will enough to not sink the movie?  And could she be believable as a woman he was interested in? 

“Oliver is looking to change up his image and Tommy is really pushing him for the male lead.  We think you'd be the perfect complement to Oliver, and you'd bring something really special to this picture,” Malcolm said, leaning forward as he finally spoke.

“I'm interested . . .” Felicity said, her voice trailing off.  She wasn't sure why she was playing coy:  was it because she wanted them to want her more, or because she was too uncertain to know what to do next?

Because . . . this could be a good movie.  The story and the people involved were the best combination she had seen so far.  But there was something that was making her hesitate.  

_You're being ridiculous_ , Felicity told herself.  She took her bag and stood up, holding her hand out to Malcolm and then Sebastian.  “Send the script to me when it's ready, and then we'll talk.  Thank you for thinking of me.”

A round of handshakes, hugs and cheek kisses completed, Felicity was walking out of the office, digging her keys out of her bright red tote.  It was a really great opportunity--all of this was, really.  So she should capitalize on it.

There was just something about working with Oliver . . .

And _where_ were her keys?

Felicity opened her bag wider, searching for the missing keyring.  Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly realized that she was much too close to someone she hadn't realized was there.

“Oomph!” she said as she collided with a fabric-covered wall.  “I'm sorry, I wasn't looking--”

And then her eyes registered who it was.

“Oliver.”

“Hey, Felicity,” he said, sheepishly smiling at her.  “Sorry, I was trying to decode a text from Thea.”  He took a step back from her, letting her see the cell phone he had in his hand.  “ Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm--I'm fine,” she replied, feeling equally embarrassed.  “Searching for my keys.  That's my excuse for not looking where I was going.  Which is always a bad idea, walking and doing something else at the same time, with my coordination or lack thereof.”

He chuckled quietly, ducking his head.  She didn’t know why he was acting all shy, given that she was the one who had just babbled like an idiot.  But it did allow her to take him in.  In well-worn jeans, a Henley, and a pair of aviator sunglasses, he wasn't trying to hide who he was.  Which made sense.  After all, he was Oliver Queen, heartthrob and action hero.  Even in Hollywood, he stood out.  So trying to disguise his appearance was a waste of time.

“Were you just seeing Malcolm and Sebastian?” Oliver asked.  “About the astronaut romcom?”

Felicity fidgeted with the strap of her bag.  “Yeah, I was.  They told me they were interested in you for the male lead.”

“Yeah . . . I think it's mostly a courtesy.  Because of Digg.  He was the second AD on a picture of mine three years ago.  I put in a good word for him and he got to direct an indie.  So he feels like he owes me one,” Oliver said, sounding casual, like it was no big deal.  

But Felicity thought she heard something in his voice.  Embarrassment that he was only getting the meeting as a favor?  Or could it be self-doubt?  Wondering if he was up for something more than action roles?  He was four years older than her, which meant he must be nearly thirty by now.

“John's really made a name for himself as a director,” Felicity said.  “At least, that's what I've heard.  I’d live to work with him.”

Oliver's face brightened.  “Digg's great.  And Lyla is crazy-talented.  A lot better than those CW shows she's worked on.  You'd like her.”

Smiling a little, Felicity nodded.  “Well, I won't keep you . .  .”

“Oh, yeah, shit,” Oliver said, looking at the diver's watch in his wrist.  “I'm late.  Hey, before you go--you want to get a drink sometime?  Not because of the Golden Globes thing, which, damn, I should have said congratulations . . .”

The only thing she could do was stare at him, wondering who was this man and what had happened to the confident, cocky Oliver Queen.  

“Thank you,” Felicity said, reaching out and resting her hand on his firearm.  “And yeah, let's get a drink.  Tommy's got my number.  Now scoot.”

She immediately winced at sounding like her bubbe.  And it made Oliver grin at her.

“‘Scoot’?  I'm sorry, you must have been hurrying home to watch _The Golden Girls_.”

“Hey, they should still be making _The Golden Girls_ , even if half the cast is dead,” Felicity told him, pointing at him for good measure.

Oliver laughed.  “I stand corrected.  I'll call you, Felicity.”

And then he leaned down, brushed his lips against her cheek, and turned away, jogging into the office building.

It was a toss-up what had her more distracted: the sight of his ass in those jeans, or the fact that she could still feel his warm lips and the scratch of his stubble against her skin.

XXX

_ UNTITLED LYLA MICHAELS PROJECT _

FADE IN.  PROLOGUE.

NEWSPAPER HEADLINES:  “Will Man Go to Mars?”  “NASA Lobbies For Ambitious Exploration Program.”  “Eugene Cernan, Last Man on Moon, Dies; Often Spoke of Desire to Walk on Mars.”

VIDEO CLIP: woman in her mid-fifties, in skirt suit and pearls, identified as President Michaela Kim.  “Seventy-five years ago, President John F. Kennedy said, ‘We choose to go to the moon in this decade, not because it is easy, but because it is hard’.  For too long, America has chosen to focus on the easy, the quick, the politically expedient.  But I am here to say no more.  Today, I am here to say, we choose to go to Mars in this decade, because what was once easy is no longer so easy.  And what was hard is possibly the only solution for the survival of the human race.”

TEXT.  In the near future, a group of astronauts will travel to Mars.  The red planet, the site of so many science fiction novels and movies, is now the only real possibility to save humanity.  Earth cannot be home for everyone anymore; overpopulation and climate change has seen to that.  Now, two men and two women will take the first of what the world hopes will be many journeys to Mars, to begin building a new home.  And what is a home without love?

MUSIC: Life on Mars?

ROLL CREDITS.

XXX

With a barely-restrained sigh, Oliver let himself into Tommy's bungalow, where he had been staying the last few weeks.  He dropped his gym bag and went into the kitchen, looking for his best friend/agent and to throw out his coffee cup.

“Tommy?” he called out as he drank the last of his drip coffee.  “Tommy, you awake?”

There was the sound of someone stumbling in the hallway, then Tommy cursed softly.  “It's too damn bright,” be muttered as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  “Coffee.”

“I'll make some,” Oliver said, opening the cabinet where the supplies are located.  “How was the party?”

Tommy had made the rounds last night, but Oliver had begged off.  He had claimed he had an early training session this morning.  Which, while true, had never stopped him from partying before.  But the party scene was starting to lose its appeal for him.  Not to mention that after the lackluster performance of his last two movies, most industry people studiously ignored him.

“Not that good, since I can remember all of it,” Tommy groused.  “You should have come, Oll-iver.”

The catch in Tommy's voice was minor, but Oliver heard it.  Tommy had nearly called him Ollie, but had stopped himself.  Which was nice of him.  It showed Tommy was doing his best to break a lifetime habit in order to support Oliver as he tried to become something new.  Someone new, someone else than the party boy and action star he had always been.

“You know it's okay, Tommy,” Oliver said, looking at him.  “If you call me Ollie.  I mean, Thea's never going to stop.”

“She'd stop if _you_ stopped calling her ‘Speedy’,” Tommy said with a lopsided grin.  He took a seat on one of the bar stools at the island, leaning forward on his forearms.  “I just need to get used to it.  I don't want to call you Ollie when I'm trying to make a deal for you as Oliver Queen.  Speaking of which . . .”

Oliver groaned and turned to fiddle with the coffee machine.  “It was just a courtesy meeting, Tommy.”

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Tommy said, eyeing him.  “John Diggle called me yesterday to reiterate that he wants you.”

Too surprised to hide his reaction, Oliver turned around, two different Keurig pods in his hand, and stared at Tommy.  “He did?”

“Yep.  French Vanilla, by the way.” Tommy gestured to the pod in Oliver's right hand.

Rolling his eyes, he popped the pod in the machine and started it brewing.  “You're such a girl, Merlyn.”

“Someone's feeling nervous,” Tommy observed.  “They really are interested, Oliver.  And it's a huge chance for you.  To change your image, to really show what you’ve got, to work with great talent.”

“So, what, you're saying I shouldn't be nervous?” Oliver asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Hell, no.  Nerves mean you care, and that is nice to see.  It's been a while since you cared, Oliver,” Tommy said, pinning Oliver with one of those piercing, probing looks of his.  Ones that he didn't pull out that often, but always when he had something to tell Oliver that he had been thinking for a while.

Oliver rolled his shoulders and looked at Tommy.  “I'm not a kid anymore.  I . . . I just want to do something . . .”

Breaking off, Oliver lowered his head.  How could he put it into words?  The strange new feelings that had started growing in him over the last year, as his thirtieth birthday approached.  Maybe it was the mediocre performance of his recent movies.  Maybe it was his sister wrinkling her nose when he told her about his next project: yet another action movie.  Maybe it was all the extra time he had to spend in the gym to maintain the body that used to be easy to build.  Maybe it was the time he had mixed up the line he was supposed to say with a line from another movie . . . and no one on set had noticed.

Or maybe it was seeing Felicity Smoak break out of her own place in Hollywood and get nominated for a Golden Globe.

The feel of Tommy's hand on his shoulder made Oliver raise his eyes from the floor.  His best friend was looking at him sympathetically.  “So how did the meeting go?” Tommy asked.

“Okay, I think,” Oliver said, running a hand over his hair.  “You know how it is with Sebastian and your dad.”

Tommy made a face and nodded.  The coffee maker beeped and he turned to pour himself a cup.

“Oh, and I ran into Felicity outside.  Can I get her number from you?” Oliver asked, hoping he sounded like it was no big deal.

Unfortunately, Tommy hadn't gotten that message, because he spun around like a top.  “You saw Felicity?  You want her number?  Wait, that means you were late to the meeting, because she was meeting with them before you.”

“I was barely late,” Oliver says, shifting on his feet.  “I told them I was talking to Felicity and they got all excited about it.”

“They're really gunning for her, but also saying they want her to audition.  But I think it's just a formality.  If she wants the part, it's hers,” Tommy commented, still looking at him.  

Oliver nodded, leaning against the counter.  “She seemed interested.  I asked if she wanted to get a drink with me.”

“And that's why you need her number?”

“Yeah, she told me to get it from you.”  Oliver frowned.  “Do you think it means something, that she didn't just give me her number?”

“My love of vanilla-flavored coffee aside, I lack the equipment to answer that question,” Tommy replied with annoyance.  “Call your sister and ask her.”

Snorting, Oliver grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.  “Yeah, sure.  So when do you think the script is going to be ready?”

“Any day now, they say,” Tommy replied, his phone ringing.  He picked it up, looked at the display, and smirked.  “Hey, Sebastian, how's it going?” he answered.

Ripples of anticipation and fear went through Oliver.  And Tommy knew it, from the shit-eating grin on his face as he listened to Sebastian.

“So you guys really like Oliver for the male lead, huh?  And you think Felicity Smoak is interested for the co-starring role?”  Tommy sounded like he hadn’t doubted Oliver for a moment and that he was merely just confirming what had happened at the meeting.  “That's great.  Why don't you send the scripts over when Lyla is done, and I'll get them to my clients.  What was that?”

Tommy looked over at Oliver.  “You think it's a good sign that Oliver and Felicity are already talking?  Well, they have known each other for years, but I couldn't agree more.  In fact, they're going to keep talking.”

Making a quick slashing motion across his throat, Oliver silently warned Tommy not to say anything more.  Picking up on the signal, Tommy wrapped up the phone call and looked at him.

“Feeling shy, Queen?”  Tommy definitely was still wearing his agent hat, so Oliver stood his ground.

“Let's not act like this is a done deal,” Oliver cautioned.  “And . . . so what if I'm getting a drink with Felicity?  That's also not a done deal.”

“I suppose so . . . but man, you're really out of it, aren't you?  ‘Cause this isn't like you.”

What was like him, though?  What was normal for the new man he was becoming?  Oliver wasn't sure, but he thought it would be best to keep some things, some feelings, to himself.  So he just shrugged and put on a smile.  “Just trying something new.  So are you going to give me Felicity's number or not?”

“Sure,” Tommy said, lifting his phone and glancing at it before he rattled off her number.  

Oliver put it into his phone and then picked up his bottle of water.  “I'm going to shower.”

Before Tommy could say anything else, Oliver took off down the hall towards the room he had been using.  He was sure Tommy thought he was going to calling Felicity right away, but he would be wrong.  No, Oliver was going to wait.  Find out if they both got the parts before he did anything.

It was true: he had known Felicity for a long time.  Probably close to five years now.  He had watched her go from a pretty, quirky actress into something closer to beautiful.  And at the same time, her talent had grown, even as she kept playing the second banana parts that were all she had gotten since she arrived in Hollywood.

And then she appeared in _High Tide_ .  A quiet little indie movie, about a woman living in a dying harbor town knowing that she couldn't leave, it hadn't been the kind of movie that should have been a big success.  But besides being critically acclaimed, _High Tide_ had caught fire at the box office and was one of the top-ten grossing movies of the year.  It had been nominated for a bunch of Golden Globes and was generating a lot of Oscar buzz.

Oliver had seen _High Tide_ , but not at its premiere or an industry screening.  No, he had seen it like a normal person.  He had snuck into a theater and watched it, finding himself leaning forward as the movie played.  He had been totally captivated by Felicity's performance.  Most people who knew Felicity might be amazed and surprised that such a nuanced, quiet performance could come from the babbling, occasionally awkward blonde.

But not Oliver.  There had been something about Felicity, from the first time he had met her, that made him think she was meant for more than ‘best friend of female lead’ in a bunch of so-so romcoms.

And it seemed like the world was figuring that out.  So Oliver just had to hope that there was enough time for him to get to work with Felicity once.  Long enough for some of that special something to maybe rub off on him.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really excited to bring you this new chapter of Love is Red, because the reaction to the first chapter was just so great. In fact, two different readers made fan art for the story, so I’ll be featuring artwork on each chapter from here on out. The amazing quiveringbunny made this graphic, which I just love. Thanks so much for reading and showing your enthusiasm for this fic!
> 
>   
> 

It was funny how much her life had changed.  It had to be funny, or else Felicity would be freaking out.  Because now, meetings she would have had no hope of landing, she got in days.  Auditions happened the day after they were requested, rather than a week later.  And Tommy was calling her several times a day, updating her on various projects and asking her questions.  And he wasn't the only one; her phone was ringing off the metaphorical hook.

About the only person who hadn't called her was Oliver.  She knew he had her number, because Tommy had told her that Oliver had asked him for it.  But he didn't even call her after the script for Lyla Michaels’ movie was finished and delivered to them.

The script was even more amazing than she had expected.  Yes, it was a romance . . . but a smart, emotional one, without cheap tricks or cheesy lines.  No contrived plotting or ridiculous love triangles.  Skirting the line between drama and comedy, it was just the straightforward story of two people falling in love under extreme circumstances.  Namely, on a mission to Mars that faced unexpected challenges.

What she liked best about the script was that each of the leads were individuals--in fact, all of the characters were.  So often in the movies she had appeared in, characters were tropes or a collection of tics.  But in this script, there was no hard-bitten mentor or funny best friend or wacky love interest.  No, all the characters were interesting and different and memorable.

By the end of her first read, Felicity wanted to do this movie.  After her second read, she knew she had to do it.  She  _ needed _ to do it.  She was meant to be Claire.  So she picked up her phone and called Tommy.

“So?” her agent said when he answered the phone.

“It's . . . it's the best script I've ever read,” Felicity said, laughing a little.  “You were right to push this project.”

“Finally, someone willing to admit the truth: I’m always right,” Tommy said, laughing as well.  

Felicity shook her head.  “Wow, Tommy.  You really should do something about that low sense of self-worth.”

He snickered.  “So they want an audition, but we all know it's just to reassure the money men.  Are you free tomorrow?”

Picking up her tablet, Felicity double-checked her schedule and said, “I've got hot yoga with my friend Sara and a meeting with an accountant.  After one o’clock, though, I'm good.”

“I'll set something up at Camelot’s offices,” Tommy said, the eye roll evident, just like whenever he mentioned the name of his father's production company.  “I'm really excited for you, Felicity.  This is a great way to build on  _ High Tide _ .”

“Thanks, Tommy,” Felicity said, feeling the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.  “I really want this part.  I mean . . . I feel like I’m meant to play Claire.”

“Then let's get it for you.  Me and you.”

Now she felt the prickle of tears.  Tommy Merlyn might play the easy-going, over-grown frat guy, but in reality he was as fierce and loyal as a bulldog for his clients.  And perhaps his best quality was how he treated all his clients equally.  They all got the same level of care and attention from Tommy.

And speaking of his other clients . . .

“So is Oliver still the front-runner for the part of Kevin?” she asked, rolling the script into a tube but then immediately flattening it.

“He is.  I gotta say, he's turning over a new leaf.  He's already started doing research.  And Oliver does not do research.  Although, with most of his previous movies, research was more about finding new ways to keep the eight-pack nice and tight.”

_ And women all over the world have appreciated that dedication _ , Felicity thought, biting her lip.  It couldn't be denied, Oliver was gorgeous.  He certainly looked like the public conception of how an astronaut should look.  All strong jaw and broad shoulders.  But how would he handle the complex scientific dialogue his character would need to bring to life?  After all, Oliver had never made any lie of how education hadn’t been important to him.  He had come to Hollywood instead of going to college.  

Felicity, on the other hand, had been finishing her junior year at MIT when a play she had done in Boston had attracted a lot of attention--and then her performance had won her an Eliot Norton Award, for best performance by an actress in a play performed in Boston.  That gave her the confidence to come to LA in the summer before her senior year and get an agent.  But in spite of what Tommy had wanted, Felicity had stood firm and insisted on getting her degree before she came to Hollywood for good.

The fact that she had a science background made the part of Claire even more attractive to Felicity, and it convinced her she would be able to handle the dialogue.  But could Oliver do the same?  She still wasn’t sure.  One brief meeting weeks ago--a meeting that made her notice something different in him--wasn’t enough to quell all her fears.  

But the fact that he was doing research . . . that was a good sign.  A very good sign.

“Okay, Felicity, I'm on this.  Let's make this happen.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” she said with a smile, wrapping her free arm around her midsection.  “I can't wait.”

“You won't have long to wait,” Tommy promised.

Happily, Tommy kept his promise.  Two days after her audition, she was signing the contract to appear as Claire in  _ The Gravity of Love _ .

A title Felicity hoped would get changed.  It was the only wrong note about the project so far.

And at the same time, Oliver Queen signed his contract and they appeared together at a press announcement of the project.  Which was the first time she saw Oliver since they had run into each other outside the Camelot offices.

Felicity walked onto the set that had been constructed for the announcement, all white and sleek and futuristic, and felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.  She was wearing a bright floral dress with a red ribbon belt, her hair hanging in loose waves around her face.  Her nails were painted yellow, matching her high heels, and her glasses were perched on her nose.

Then Oliver walked on set, and she felt even more out-of-place.  Because he looked . . . like an actor.  Dressed in dark gray pants and a blue shirt that made his eyes even more intense, he looked focused and serious.  Yet he was the action star and she was the one getting Oscar buzz.

As soon as Oliver saw her, though, she could see something flicker in his eyes.  Then he practically cut Sebastian off in mid-word, and walked over to her.  “Hey,” he says softly, smiling at her.  “Nice to meet you, Claire.”

For some reason, being called by her character's name put Felicity at ease.  Made her feel less like an outsider who had caught a random bit of luck to be here.  So with a newfound confidence, she held her hand out to him and said, “it's good to meet you, too, Kevin.”

The smile he gave her, and the tingle when he took her hand, made Felicity suddenly remember the script.  And the technically precise yet emotionally intense love scene they would be performing together.

_ Oh, frak _ , she thought to herself.  She would be kissing Oliver Queen while being nearly naked in low gravity.

Would that make her boobs look bigger?

Giving her head a quick shake, Felicity shook Oliver's hand.  “I'm so excited about this project.  I'm glad we'll be working together on it.”

“Me, too,” Oliver says, holding her hand for a moment too long.  “I have to say, I'm a little nervous.”

“You are?” Felicity asked in surprise.  After all, Oliver had been working in movies for nine years, following a few years of TV work.  He had appeared in a lot of movies and had been a legitimate star for four years.  Admittedly in action movies, but Felicity knew he had to work hard in those movies.  Being the lead in a movie was more than just appearing in the most scenes.  There was all the extra press, the need to be an on-set leader . . . it was a lot of extra work.  And now she would be taking on a big share of that job as his co-star.  

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Yeah, of course.  My movies are usually considered flops if I don't take my shirt off within the first fifteen minutes,” Oliver said with a healthy dose of deprecation.  “And now I'm going to be doing the most complex acting of my career.  Without taking my shirt off once, according to the script,” he finished, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Pity,” Felicity said without thinking.  Then she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair as Oliver's eyes widened, before his grin became a smirk.

Thankfully, he wasn't able to say anything because it was time for the announcement.  Felicity felt flustered when she realized that Lyla Michaels and John Diggle were both here and she should have introduced herself to them, instead of trying to figure out her co-star.  But it was too late now.

The announcement seemed to go smoothly, although since this was the first casting announcement Felicity had ever attended, she wouldn't know otherwise.  It was over quickly at least, and Felicity wasted no time in talking to both Lyla and John, who told her to call him Digg.

“We're moving fast on this, aiming for release in a year.  With the special effects, that will be a challenge, but I'm excited for it,” Digg said.

“But we want the performances to be the most important thing,” Lyla said, giving her husband a look.

He smiled at her, clearly enjoying a discussion they must have held many times, and Felicity couldn't help smiling, too.  It seemed like the writer and the director would be good people to work with.  Digg had such a calm, reassuring air about him.  And as Oliver had predicted, Felicity loved Lyla already.

The thought of Oliver made her look around for him.  She found him almost immediately, talking to Tommy and Malcolm.  Or more likely, serving as a buffer between father and son.  The tense relationship between the Merlyns was well-known in Hollywood.

Within a moment of Felicity looking over at him, Oliver made eye contact with her.  Then he smiled at her, making her earlier butterflies feel like nothing.

Oh, frak.  

“Felicity?”

“What?!?” she yelped, jumping at the order of command in Lyla’s voice.

“Easy there, soldier,” she says with a smile.  “I asked if you had known Oliver a long time.   You two seem very comfortable with each other.”

Swallowing, Felicity nodded her head.  “We've known each other for years, through Tommy.”

Lyla tilted her head to the side, her eyes slightly narrowed.  But then she smiled.  “It must be exciting, to be working with someone you already know.  And that will help, since you and Oliver will be spending a lot of time on screen together, just the two of you.”

_ Including that love scene _ , Felicity thought, hoping her cheeks weren't too flushed.

“Yeah, that's true.  Although--”  She cut herself off, feeling a flare of vulnerability.

“Although what?” Lyla asked.

Felicity looked at Oliver again.  Taking in the way he held himself, the way he was listening and not saying anything as Tommy and Malcolm talked.  At the breadth of his shoulders, the blue of his eyes.  How his thumb was rubbing against the fingers of his right hand.

“Although I don't know that I really know Oliver at all,” Felicity said quietly, more to herself than to Lyla.

XXX

INTERIOR, AUDITORIUM.  

A diverse collection of twenty people, all in their early to mid-twenties, are seated in the first three rows with seats left empty.  The group includes CLAIRE, meticulous and intellectual-looking; KEVIN, astronaut poster boy, WALKER, focused and intense; MEGAN, flirty and charming; and GREG, casual jokester & nerd.

WALKER: When is this getting started?

KEVIN: When it starts, I guess.

CLAIRE: The agenda said ten o’clock.  It’s ten-oh-three.

KEVIN: Are you straight from Greenwich, then?  

CLAIRE EYES HIM.  

CLAIRE: Being an astronaut is about being accurate and precise.  At least, that’s what I thought.

GREG: I thought it was about exploring new worlds, to seek out new life--

MEGAN: Guess we know who the Star Trek fan is now.  [LOUDLY] To boldly go where no one has gone before!

CLAIRE: Megan!

MEGAN: Oh, c’mon, Claire, they’re not judging us already.

CLAIRE: You don’t know that!

KEVIN: Ease up, Claire.  [PUTS EXTRA EMPHASIS ON HER NAME]

CLAIRE GLARES AT HIM.

XXX

It didn't take long for Oliver to feel like he was in over his head.  Honestly, he was surprised it took until lunch on their first day.

Because secretly, he had been sure he would be have been fired by the end of the first hour.  Since he was definitely the weak link in the chain.

Digg was an incredibly talented director, both in terms of his eye and with how he could manage a large group of people.  Lyla had a real gift for writing, especially when it came to exploring emotions and inner thoughts.  In her writing, she managed to draw you inside the characters’ minds and make it visual, in a way Oliver had never seen in a script.  

But then, it wasn't like he had seen many scripts like this.  He couldn't remember the last time he had even read a non-action script.  Working on this project was making him see how much he had been pushed into the action movie ghetto, how he hadn't tried to break free or broaden his appeal.  And now, with so much riding on this part . . . Oliver realized how out-of-shape he was.

Out of shape when it came to acting-- _ really _ acting, not what he had been doing before this project.  All the actors had been talking about the rigors of their parts.  But it was one thing for the other actors, who were all young and making a name for themselves.  Like Roy Harper, making his feature film debut after three years on some MTV show.  It was different for Oliver, who had been acting for years.  But this part was taking all of him, just to match Felicity's level.  He had been impressed with her talent before.  Now, though, he was absolutely amazed.  She was so  _ good _ .  Able to effortlessly step into a scene and be ready, knowing her cues and marks and little bits of business, as well as being at the right emotional level for her character.  

Felicity knew a lot about space travel and being an astronaut, too.  Because Digg was shooting in sequence for the most part, they had started with the scenes of Kevin and Claire in competition for a spot on the mission to Mars.  With Claire trying to show how smart she was, Felicity had done the same.  Not in a direct way, just by casually mentioning the reading she had done, the scholars she had consulted, and more.  

It made Oliver doubt himself.  What was he doing here, being acted off the screen by a woman who was younger than he was?  But that woman had been nominated for a Golden Globe, and was reported to be the front-runner not just for an Oscar nomination, but for the award itself.

But working with her . . . it made him better.  Made him contemplate the choices he made as an actor, consider if there was something else he could do, something that was less obvious yet equally believable for the character.  And by thinking about his character more, Oliver was starting to think like him.  Reacting the way Kevin would.

The first time he realized what he was doing was at the start of their second week.  He was walking around the lot, heading towards the commissary.  Because honestly?  He liked the food and he liked that no one ever bothered him there.  Whether it was because he was in the midst of his peers and no one cared about what he was eating, or because his star had fallen  _ that _ far and no one wanted to be seen with him, the commissary was a good place to get a good meal.  Of course, he could have eaten on set, but he liked to get some fresh air and a change of scenery.

He was in line, carrying a tray with his salad and chicken breast and bottle of water, considering if he could go for one of the really good chocolate chip cookies, when the woman ahead of him swayed on her feet and then hit the floor.

Without any thought, Oliver dropped his tray and bent down by the woman.  She was extremely thin, her bones like sticks pushing through the paper of her skin.  Oliver took her wrist, finding her pulse and frowning at how fast it was.

Looking up, Oliver caught the eye of one of the commissary workers.  “Had anyone called 911?”

“I did!  Oh my God, Sin!”  An equally thin starlet kneeled beside Oliver, holding a cell phone to her ear.  “I told her she was going too hard on that juice cleanse!”

“She hasn’t been eating?” Oliver asked, eyeing the unconscious woman.  

Sin’s friend nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.  “She was up for a part in this movie, but they were putting off giving her an official contract until she lost some more weight.”  

“What producer pulled shit like that?”  He knew he sounded angry, because he was.  This poor woman, who couldn’t be that much older than his sister, looked like she was gunning for a part in a new movie about Anne Frank.  

The woman frowned.  “Slade Wilson?”

Oliver gritted his teeth.  He should have known--Slade had produced two of his earliest pictures, and the man was a prime-A bastard.  He could totally see Slade doing something like this.  

Rising to his feet, Oliver looked at Sin’s friend.  “What’s her name?  Sin what?”  

“Sin Mercury,” the friend said, sounding even more confused.  

“Stay with her until the ambulance arrives.  And when Sin wakes up, tell her to eat.  I’ll put in a good word with Slade for her,” Oliver said, resting a hand on the woman’s shoulder for a moment.  Then, his appetite gone, he turned and started walking out of the commissary.  

As he walked, he pulled out his phone and hit the contact for Slade.  

“Slade Wilson’s phone, this is Isabel.”  

“Isabel, it’s Oliver Queen,” he said to Slade’s long-time assistant.  “I need to talk to him.”  

“Hi, Oliver,” Isabel purred, making Oliver’s skin crawl.  His one-night stand with her was five years ago and one of his biggest mistakes from his playboy past.  Mostly because Isabel never failed to make it clear she hadn’t forgotten that night.  

But Oliver wasn’t going to get into that right now.  “Is Slade available?” he asked, keeping his voice brisk as he walked to the section of the lot where the  _ Gravity of Love _ cast trailers were located.  

“Yes, he’s free.  We’ll have to get drinks some night, Oliver,” Isabel said, her voice pouty.  “Hold for Slade.”  

He waited impatiently, slowing his steps to stay outside since his cell phone didn’t get good reception inside his trailer.  

After a minute, Slade’s gruff voice came through the phone.  “Kid, whaddya want?”

“I heard you’re considering an actress named Sin Mercury for your next movie.  I think you should give her a chance,” Oliver said, cutting right to the chase.

“Sin Mercury?  No idea who you’re talking about.”  

“She’s Asian-looking, short, young, scary thin?”  Oliver described her, hoping that would be enough to jog Slade’s memory.  Especially since he himself didn’t really know anything about this girl.

There was the sound of chewing, then through what must be a mouthful of food, Slade replied, “Oh, yeah, her.  Give her a chance, you say?”  

“Yeah . . . I think she’s thin enough for the job, whatever the part is,” Oliver said, doing his best to keep his voice light and casual.  He paced as he talked, nodding to a few crew members who walked past him.  “C’mon, Slade, what do you have to lose?”

Grudgingly, Slade said, “Suppose you’re right.  Okay, I’ll call her agent.”  He paused.  “Why are you takin’ an interest in this girl?  You’re not fucking her, are you?”

“I barely know her,” Oliver said in annoyance.

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t fucking her,” Slade said, chewing again.  

“I don’t have any interest in this woman.  I just wanted to give her a hand.”

Slade snickered.  “And then she’ll give you one.  Whatever, Queen.  Guess you’ve done your good deed for the decade.”  

“Thank you, Slade.  I’ll let you go,” Oliver said, hanging up the phone.  He turned around, planning to scrounge up some food from craft services, when he drew up short.  

Felicity was right there, sitting on the steps of her trailer.  With her hair in a ponytail and dressed in her costume--the same khaki pants and red polo shirt that he wore--she looked undeniably cute, Oliver thought.

And the small, proud smile on her face made him want to duck his head and scuff his foot against the ground.  

“I . . . I didn’t take you for an eavesdropper,” Oliver said, fumbling for something to say.  

She shrugged her shoulders, her smile growing wider.  “I heard you, and then you said ‘Slade’ so I knew who you were talking to.  And I hate mysteries, so I decided to listen.”  

Slowly, Oliver walked over towards her, easing down beside her on the steps.  It wasn’t until he was halfway down that he realized the steps really weren’t wide enough for both of them, but it was too late now.  So he ended up with his side pressed against hers, from his shoulders down through their hips and to their knees.  

“Do you know Slade?” 

“I had never met him until a few weeks ago--I took a meeting with him,” Felicity said.  She wrinkled her nose, upping her cute factor.  “The script he was pitching was awful and I felt like I was nothing but a slab of meat for him.  Although I wasn’t a slab that was to his tastes, since he thought I was too ‘homely’,” she said, using air quotes before pushing up her glasses.  

“Homely?” he said, partly because he didn’t know what the word meant, but also knowing that whatever kind of insult it was, it definitely didn’t apply to Felicity.

Chuckling a little, she looked at him.  Her eyes blinked behind her glasses and she swallowed.  “It means . . . it means plain.” 

“What the hell?”  

When Felicity flinched, Oliver realized just how loudly he had spoken.  He repeated it, this time not shouting in her ear.  “Sorry, but seriously--what the hell?  You’re not plain.”  

“To each their own, I guess,” Felicity said, shifting a little.

“Slade is an asshole.  You’re better off not working for him--believe me,” Oliver told her, trying to change the subject.  To not continue down the road of his opinion of her appearance.  

“I know,” she said, clasping her hands together and resting them on her thighs.  “So . . . even though you don’t like Slade, you called him to put in a good word for an actress?”

Running a hand over his hair, he tried to find an explanation that wouldn’t sound like bragging.  “She passed out in front of me in the commissary, and her friend said she was trying to lose weight in order to get a job on one of Slade’s movies.  It was one of his little power games, so I thought I’d cut him off at the knees.”  

Felicity smiled a little.  “Take one of the pieces off the board, huh?”  

“Yeah,” he said, smiling back.  “I think Kevin is starting to rub off on me.”  

“You think so?” 

There was something in her voice, something that wasn’t doubt.  More like . . . encouragement to reconsider his self-image.  Like she thought he was already like his character.  

He didn’t know what to say to that.  After a moment or two, Felicity stood up.  “I had some ideas about scene seventeen--the one where Kevin and Claire have their fight?  Would you like to hear about them over lunch?”

This was the first time she had asked him to work on a scene together in advance.  Scene seventeen was an important one, critical to the first third of the movie.  Getting it right would be key for the success of the whole film.  

“I’d love to,” he said, rising to his feet.  “Let me grab some food and my script.  Your trailer or mine?”  

“Oh, I want to be on my own turf,” Felicity said with a small smirk.  “Come knock on my door when you’re ready.”  

And with that, she climbed the three steps to her trailer and opened the door, glancing at him over her shoulder.  

Oliver watched her go, feeling a flutter of something deep in his gut.  A flutter that felt like more than just about the challenge of working on scene seventeen.  

Much, much more.

End, Chapter 2

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another chapter in my Olicity actor AU! I know some folks were hoping to see Oliver and Felicity in her trailer, but this fic is a bit more episodic than that. I hope you enjoy what happens in this chapter!
> 
> Two characters in this chapter were named after two of my favorite people in the Arrow fandom: melsanfo and ihatepeas. I hope you’re both excited by what your namesakes get to do!

 

It was a good thing that everything with  _ The Gravity of Love _ was going so well, because Felicity hadn’t realized how getting nominated for a major award would suck up all her free hours--and quite a few hours that weren't free, either.  

Multitasking became her life.  Not that she didn't already do that, with reading scripts while she was on the elliptical and using her commute to answer phone calls.  But now, she was lucky if she was only doing two things at once.  Last night, she had combined yoga, a phone call to her mother, and looking through photographs of dresses for the Golden Globes, as provided by the stylist that Tommy had arranged for her.

That was another thing: she had a stylist!  Felicity thought she was perfectly capable of picking out a dress on her own, but Shado, the soft-spoken yet eagle-eyed professional, had disagreed.

“Your personal style is good, Felicity, but now's the time to really establish your look.  I love your glasses and I'm glad you want to keep wearing them, but we can do more to cement your girly nerd image.  No one else in Hollywood is going there, so it'll get you plenty of attention.  And since you're already working a more low-key version of that look, I'm just going to help you turn it up a little.”

Felicity had to admit, Shado was nice enough and smart enough to not try and make Felicity into someone she wasn't.  And the gowns that Shado had been sending her . . . Felicity had never thought of herself as a fashionista, but she was having to change her mind after how she reacted to such gorgeous clothes.

One thing was sure: she was going to make a splash at the Golden Globes.

That is, if she survived all the parties first.

Yawning, Felicity stepped into the hair and makeup trailer on the Wednesday morning before the Golden Globes, clutching her travel mug of coffee like it was a lifeline.  Which it was: she had been stuck at a nominees party last night until after eleven, even though she had vowed she wouldn't stay past ten.  But sneaking out of a party was a lot less easy now.

“Hey, Felicity.”  The greeting from Twinkie, the always-cheerful makeup artist, made Felicity smile, albeit wanly.  “Saw you on the red carpet at the EW party.  That dress you were wearing was killer,” Twinkie said, gesturing for Felicity to sit down in a chair.

“Thanks,” she replied, slipping her red tote off her shoulder and  taking her seat.  She got comfortable, pulling out the latest copy of the script and sipping her coffee as Twinkie began working on her hair.

The bright lights in the trailer helped to wake Felicity up.  The upbeat salsa music playing in the trailer--selected by Mel, the ultra-hip makeup artist who worked on the male cast members--made Felicity’s toes tap against her chair’s footrest.  Twinkie and Mel carried on their own conversation as Felicity finished reviewing her script.

“Did you go with anyone to the party?” Twinkie asked after a few minutes, noticing that Felicity had put down her script and was up for conversation.

Felicity started to shake her head, only for Twinkie to hold her head in place.  “Oh, sorry!  You'd think I'd know not to do that by now.  No, I didn't take anyone.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone right now?” Twinkie asked.  Which was nice of her, because of course she knew Felicity wasn't dating anyone.  The hair and makeup people were the most dialed-in of anyone in Hollywood.  They always knew the gossip before anyone else.

“No, I've been flying solo for a while.  Doing the whole ‘embracing my inner goddess’ thing.  Which mainly means there's no one around to judge me when I have mint chip ice cream at three in the morning,” Felicity said with a small smile.

Twinkie laughed.  “Well, if you ever need a date, let me know.”

“Thanks, Twinkie,” Felicity said, hearing her phone ring with a new text message.  She pulled it out of her tote carefully, not wanting to disrupt Twinkie again, and thumbed through her messages.  Shado wanting her to pick between the blue and the red dress for the Globes ceremony, her mom asking to borrow the dress Felicity had worn last night, Tommy telling her to invite Oliver to the Globes . . . 

Wait,  _ what _ ?

“Felicity?” Twinkie asked, making Felicity realize she had said that out loud.

“My agent wants me to invite Oliver to the Golden Globes,” Felicity said, staring at her phone.  She was too shocked to hold back, even though she knew this wasn't the right place to be talking about this.  Because there was no way it would stay in this trailer.

“If only I had an agent playing wingman for me, getting me a date with Oliver Queen,” Mel joked.

Twinkie looked at Mel and frowned.  “Haven’t you been with your boyfriend for years and years?”

Mel shrugged and grinned.  “Yep, and I love him to pieces.  But my three list is still alive and well, and Oliver Queen is on it.”  

Felicity wished she hadn't opened her mouth.  Especially since Oliver would be here any minute now.  Because this was already embarrassing enough, with her agent thinking she couldn't get dates on her own.  But now Twinkie and Mel were both talking about their three lists, and they both had Oliver on them, and how could they work with him while wanting to sleep with him?

Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about the makeup artists talking about having sex with Oliver.  Maybe she was overreacting at Tommy’s request and thinking like a crazy person.  Maybe Tommy had some other reason for the request.  But she had to figure out just what he had meant with that text.

“I'm sorry, Twinkie, I have to make a quick phone call,” Felicity said, putting her phone to her ear.

The phone rang a few times, then Tommy answered, his voice having that bottom-of-a-well quality you got on speakerphone.  “Hey, Felicity.”

“Tommy, what the hell?  I didn't realize agent meant matchmaker,” Felicity hissed, the anger appearing out of nowhere.  “What am I worth, three goats and a mule?”

“Hey, hey, hey, easy there, Felicity,” Tommy said, sounding rushed.  “It was just an idea.  You and Oliver seem to be getting along like gangbusters, based on what I've heard, and I know Camelot would love if you could get some early publicity for  _ The Gravity of Love _ by the two of you appearing together.  But it'd be as just colleagues slash friends, that's all.”

She rubbed her forehead, glad that Twinkie hadn't started applying her makeup yet.  “That's all this is?”

“What else would it be?” Tommy asked, sounding curious.  “Is this about Oliver being my best friend?  Because it isn't--I make these kinds of suggestions to my clients all the time.”

“You've never made them to me before,” Felicity said, her voice equal parts disgruntled and sheepish.

“Your profile is a lot higher now,” Tommy explained.  “I know this isn't what you became an actress for, Felicity, but this is part of the business.  If you don't want the story to become ‘poor lonely Felicity’, you can't keep going to events stag.  And c'mon, you know Oliver is a good guy.”

Breathing in and out slowly, Felicity felt some of the tension ease out of her.  Tommy was right, as much as it annoyed her.  Not because she didn't mind admitting when she was wrong, but because she didn't really like the business part of show business.  Marketing herself, worrying about her image . . . it all seemed so out of her control. Because she could work and work and work, but some tabloid or blog out to make a buck or get some clicks could undo all her hard work, and then some, by running a picture of her with the caption NERD ALERT!

“Okay, Tommy, I understand what you're saying,” Felicity conceded.

“Great.  Talk to Oliver and get back to me,” Tommy said cheerfully.  “Have you decided on a dress for the ceremony?”

Felicity gave Twinkie an apologetic glance and gave her the ‘one minute more’ gesture.  “I'm thinking the blue one.”

“Yes or no was all I was looking for, Felicity.  Why does everyone seem to think I'm gay lately?” Tommy asked, mostly amused.  “Get Shado an answer so she's not riding my ass, would you?”

Laughing, Felicity nodded.  “Okay.  Talk to you later.”  She quickly hung up and Twinkie swooped in, getting to work on Felicity's face.

Ten minutes later, right as they were going through the daily struggle to apply Felicity's false eyelashes, the door of the trailer opened.  “Good morning, everyone,” Oliver said, his deep, throaty voice making him sound like he had just gotten out of bed.

It made something flutter, low in her belly.  Felicity pressed her lips together.  It had been too long since her last date if she was getting butterflies over a man's voice.  Even if it was a man who sounded like Oliver did now, who looked like Oliver did, all rumpled and soft around the edges.  Not that anything about Oliver was soft--no, he was all firm muscle, with his arms and his chest and those abs which, from her accidental brush against him two days ago, he was not letting go even though he wouldn't be showing them off in this movie.

And this was so not what she should be thinking about when she was trying to ask him out on an agent-prompted, totally professional date.  She needed to keep reminding herself of just that: this was only two coworkers attending a work function together.  So what if she would be wearing a dress worth thousands of dollars, a dress she hasn't had to pay for, while he was in a tux?

Oh, God.  Oliver would have to wear a tux.

A hand landed lightly on her shoulder.  “Hey, Felicity.”

She nearly yelped, but just managed to hold it in.  “Hi, Oliver,” she said quickly, giving him her best attempt at a completely unruffled smile.

He grinned back, making his dimples flash at her.  “Lost in your own world this morning?”  He sat down in the makeup chair beside hers and Mel stepped forward, clinically running her hands through his hair.

Mel was so lucky.

_ Focus, Felicity! _

“Yes . . . not really awake enough this morning,” she said before pursing her lips for Twinkie.  

In the mirror, she saw Oliver glance at her.  His eyes looked like they were flicking between her eyes and her mouth.  “With the nomination, you're out making the party rounds most nights, yeah?”

With a slight nod, she waited for Twinkie to finish applying the first layer of bright lipstick that was Claire’s trademark.  Then she turned a little towards Oliver.  “Have you ever been nominated for anything?”

Oliver let out a little chuckle.  “No,” he said, as if it was incredibly funny that Felicity was asking.  Which made her want to argue that it wasn't that funny, because after nearly three weeks of working together, she could see that Oliver was  _ good _ .  Contrary to all her worries, she had discovered that not only was Oliver talented, he had a capacity for hard work that outstripped even her own.  

Before she could think of what to say, to tell him it wasn't his fault he hadn't been recognized before, he continued on.   “But I know how it works.  The great PR machine.”

“I don't know if I'll ever figure it out,” Felicity said, mentally cheering at this perfect opening to ask Oliver to the Golden Globes.  “I was just talking to Tommy, and he wants me to take someone to the Globes.”

He turned in his chair towards her, looking curious.  “You're not seeing anyone now?”

She fought to keep from blushing.  “No . . . I mean, I was seeing this guy, Cooper Seldon?  But we broke up right before I got  _ High Tide _ and then . . .”

With a nod and a smile, Oliver showed her he understood what she wasn't saying.  That relationships were tough when one person's career took off.

For a few moments, as Twinkie finished Felicity's makeup and Mel started to get Oliver ready, there was silence between them.  But on the inside, Felicity was trying to find the right way of asking Oliver to go to the Globes with her.  

“Okay, Felicity. Knock ‘em dead out there,” was Twinkie’s bright send-off.  

She couldn't help laughing and she noticed Oliver smiling, too.  And suddenly, without thinking about it, Felicity turned to him and said, “Are you doing anything Sunday night?”

XXX

EXT-- PARK.  

CLAIRE   
sits on a bench, her chin lifted but tear stains on her face.  KEVIN approaches her slowly.

KEVIN  
Claire?

CLAIRE   
looks at him, then quickly rubs a hand over her face.  

CLAIRE  
Hi.

KEVIN  
(wryly)  
Can I sit down?  When I apologize, I do it right.  And sitting down would make it easier.  

CLAIRE  
What?

KEVIN  
sits down beside her.  

KEVIN  
I’m sorry.  You were right and I was too dumb and stubborn to back down.

CLAIRE   
stares at him.  

KEVIN  
This is when you say whether you can ever forgive me.

CLAIRE  
Oh.  Oh!  Oh, I know I can forgive you someday.  But . . . but I’d like to know first why you didn’t want to back down.

XXX

Running a hand down the front of his tux, Oliver stepped back into the ballroom of the Beverly Hilton, preparing to wade through the sea of tables and rejoin Felicity.  He hadn’t wanted to step away and miss out on time with her, but he had promised Thea he would call her from the Globes.

“They keep showing you and your co-star on TV,” Thea had reported.  “You have this thing on your face, Ollie.  It’s so strange.  I think it's called a smile?  Should I be calling Felicity to thank her for turning my brother into a human being?”

Oliver had ducked his head and done his best to change the subject.  Thea was persistent, but she also knew when to concede a battle in order to win the war.  So Oliver was sure Thea would be pumping him for more about Felicity in their future phone calls.

But he didn’t think he would ever mind talking about Felicity.

He had been surprised when Felicity had invited him to be her date.  After all, she was a nominee and then some, what with all the buzz surrounding her.  And while he might be her current co-star, he was sure everyone expected Felicity to step out with someone more . . . 

Well, he didn't know.  But no one would have expected to see Felicity Smoak with Oliver Queen.

But for some reason, Felicity didn't seem to think like that.  She had said she thought he would help make the ceremony bearable for her.  “Since we're friends, you know, and we can just talk and drink some free champagne and if, after I haven't won, I want to go to In-n-Out for a burger, I can do that with you instead of having to sneak out once I get home.”

It had been the most unique way he had ever been asked out.  Even if he didn't already like Felicity, and didn't already know she was great company to have at a boring party, Oliver would have said yes.  But given that he knew all that about Felicity . . . it didn't take him long to say yes.

And the smile she had given him, relieved and happy and excited, made him feel like a million bucks.

That feeling had lingered over the next few days.  They were moving into the section of the film where Kevin and Claire were beginning to become friends, in spite of the ongoing competition between them and the other astronaut candidates.  Oliver had been worried about this section of the film, since it called for subtle emotional changes in his character, mostly conveyed without words.  It was all in his movements and expressions to sell how Kevin was growing and maturing.    Not to mention his slowly-developing feelings for Claire.

Yet the prospect of spending Sunday evening with Felicity, getting to celebrate with her--because Oliver was convinced she was going to win--gave him a new kind of confidence.  A certainty that let him fully commit to the choices he was making as Kevin.  And it gave his scenes with Felicity an extra spark, he thought.

Digg had given him several approving nods from behind the monitors.  Lyla had hugged him at the end of the day on Thursday.  “That was exactly what I was picturing in my head for that scene, but it was a million times better,” she had told him.

And best of all, on Friday night when they wrapped for the weekend, Felicity had looked at him with a smile.  “Is it strange that I kinda hate having to wait until Monday to come back to work?”

Her words had made his heart pound a little harder, especially when she smiled wider after he nodded in agreement.  “At least we’ve got Sunday night, right?” she had said, giving him a little wave as she stepped into her trailer.  “See you then, Oliver.”

So far, tonight had gone . . . really well, he thought.  The car had picked him up first, then taken him to Felicity’s place, a small bungalow tucked away in Silver Lake.  It had made him smile, remembering the much-less-nice house he had lived in when he first came to LA, in this same neighborhood.  Although Felicity wouldn’t be living here much longer, he thought: she’d have to move to someplace more secure, more private.  

Although he hadn’t noticed much else about Felicity’s house when she had opened the front door, because he was too busy staring at her.  She had taken his breath away.  Her hair was up in a messy bun, wavy tendrils framing her face.  To his surprise, she was wearing her glasses--he had expected her to wear contacts.  She also had bright red lipstick on, like she normally did.  

Felicity’s dress was another surprise.  From the front, it was subtly sexy, the deep blue material smoothing over her figure in an incredibly flattering way.  But then she had turned around and revealed the back of her dress.  What little there was.  The material stretched across her shoulders and upper back, but otherwise it was just skin.  Smooth, fair skin, down to her waist.

His fingers had immediately itched to stroke along her spine, from her shoulders down to the small of her back, feeling her warmth and softness.  Even now, after spending three hours with her, the urge hadn't gone away . . .

Giving his head a shake, Oliver made his way through the tables, smiling and nodding and shaking hands as he went.  Having grown up in Starling City society, he was used to this kind of social interaction, the shallow friendships and promises that didn't mean anything.  That was why Felicity had been such a breath of fresh air when he had first met her, all those years ago.  Because she was honest and open in her dealings with everyone.  If she liked you, you knew it.

The woman in question looked at him with a big smile when he took his seat next to her.  “You're back!” she said happily, before leaning in towards him.  “Thank God, Alan is being such a bore, droning on and on about his boat,” she said in a whisper.

Her eyes flicked towards the man seated to her right, and Oliver couldn't help his grin.  “But wasn't it nice to have a few minutes to just zone out?  To not have to carry the conversation?”

Felicity pursed her lips a little, looking dissatisfied.  “Maybe if he would have been willing to talk about  _ Game of Thrones _ and let slip a spoiler or two . . . yeah, then I would have listened happily without saying a peep.”

With a snicker, Oliver bumped her shoulder.  “Well, I'm back now to entertain you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cameraman move away.  The cameras hadn't been far from their table all night, which wasn't surprising given their prime location in the ballroom.  It just confirmed his feeling that Felicity was going to win tonight.   _ High Tide _ had already been honored for its writing, although it had lost out on Best Supporting Actor.

“I'll drink to that,” Felicity said with a smile.  She lifted her champagne glass to him, so Oliver took his glass by the stem and they lightly tapped them together before drinking.

And then, Ray Palmer and Martin Stein, new co-stars in a buddy cop comedy, were introduced to present Best Actress in a Drama.

“This is it!” the executive producer of  _ High Tide _ said excitedly, and everyone at the table went silent as Palmer and Stein did some awkward scripted banter.

Suddenly there was a hand gripping his knee, and Oliver looked over to see Felicity, her face pale and her eyes huge behind her glasses.  She looked incredibly nervous and almost scared, with a crease between her eyebrows.

“Hey,” he said softly, ignoring the cameraman moving into position to catch a reaction shot when Felicity's name was announced.  “Did I tell you that I thought you were the best part of the best movie I saw last year?”

Felicity's face smoothed out, her lips parting slightly.  “Really?” she asked, sounding amazed.

“Really,” he said, taking a chance and covering her hand with his own. 

He wasn't sure if it was the compliment on her acting or the touch of his hand, but the smile that flashed across her face was so warm and happy and delighted, it made him smile back.  In fact, he hadn't even realized Felicity's name had been announced, until the whole table started applauding, just like the rest of the room.  

She had definitely gotten the loudest applause of all the nominees, Oliver thought dimly, still dazzled by her smile.

“And the Golden Globe goes to . . . Felicity Smoak,  _ High Tide _ !”

If the applause had been loud before, now it was ear-piercing.  Everyone at the table was clapping and cheering, and Felicity was rising up slowly, looking stunned.  Her hand slipped out from under his as she stood up, and then Oliver also got to his feet, clapping like a maniac because he was so  _ proud _ of her.  He couldn't explain he felt it so strongly, but he was.  He was really, really proud of her.

After Felicity reached the stage, helped up by Ray Palmer, she accepted her award and the envelope and then faced the audience, her cheeks pink and the lights glinting off her glasses and somewhat hiding her eyes.  She clutched the award in her hands, then let out a small laugh.  “Thank Google I didn't trip.”

That made the whole room, Oliver included, laugh along with her--and no one harder than Jennifer Lawrence at the next table.  Felicity bit her lip.  “Because I couldn't have recovered from it nearly as gracefully as my fellow nominee, Jennifer.  I was in excellent company with Jennifer and Cate and Emily and Helen, so I'm shocked to be up here now.  I told Oliver that tonight, after I didn't win, we could go to In-n-Out, but, um, sorry, Oliver, I think we'll need to have a raincheck on the burgers.”

Another wave of laughter swept through the room, and the pride Oliver had been feeling only increased, joined by a healthy dose of admiration.  Because she was babbling, like he had noticed she did sometimes when she was nervous, yet still managing to make a speech.  And he couldn't help grinning at her talking to him in her acceptance speech . . . and making plans for them to spend more time together outside of work.

Felicity went on, thanking the producers of  _ High Tide _ , her director, and then Tommy.  “He is the best agent, and not just because he told me to bring Oliver Queen as my date tonight.  Last but not least, thank you to the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, for . . .”

But Oliver didn’t hear the rest of Felicity’s speech.  There was a roaring in his ears, a tingling in his fingertips. 

Her invitation to come with her tonight hadn’t been because she wanted to spend time with him.  Or because she might like him.  No, she had asked him because Tommy had told her.  And if Tommy had told her, it had to be tied up with her career.  With helping her image or giving  _ The Gravity of Love _ some early promotion.  

Everything about tonight had been for work.

Oliver didn’t want to believe it.  He didn’t want to think Felicity was like that.  Not after all those parties they had run into each other through the years, when Felicity had been polite, friendly, but then had moved away after a few minutes of conversation.  When he was at the height of his popularity, she had treated him the same as she did the first time they had met.  She hadn’t tried to use him to give herself a boost.

Tonight, though, she had.  And that made him feel like a fool, for believing that this date had been about anything but their careers.  

Clearly, he had gotten this all wrong.  They were just co-stars, nothing more.  And from here on out, he was going to remember that.  He had to, if he didn't want to make a complete fool out of himself.

He didn't want to cause problems on set.  This movie was a huge opportunity for him.  He couldn't damage his career by fucking this up.  

Especially since his career might be the only thing he had going for him right now.

End, Chapter 3   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in seeing what Felicity’s dress actually looks like, visit the [Pinterest board I’ve created for this fic](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who continues to support this story! I love reading your comments about Oliver and Felicity. :-)

**** “Cut!”

Felicity did her best to hold in the sigh as Digg put a halt to the scene when it had barely begun.  They were shooting the scenes of the astronaut selection process, a moment she had looked forward to when she had read the script. 

When she had been in middle school, she had qualified for admission to Space Camp.  But with only her mother's cocktail waitress salary, there was no way Felicity could go.  Something her middle school self had not handled well--in fact, she had been a major brat about it.  So this scene had been a way for Felicity to live out that middle school dream.

But in reality, it wasn't going very smoothly.  Crowd scenes often were difficult, between the extras and the need for multiple angles, but more than that, something just seemed off today.  Maybe it was because of the set: they were back in the large auditorium from the beginning of the film, and Digg seemed to be having trouble getting the cameras in position for the shots he wanted.  Which meant the cast and the extras had been squeezed into the tight seats for an hour without anything to show for it.

Next to her, Oliver shifted, trying to move his large body away from her another quarter-inch.  Felicity pressed her lips together, until she reminded herself that she would need a lipstick touch-up if she kept doing that, which would mean another delay.

Blowing out a breath, she tried to relax her shoulders.  She looked over at Oliver and gave him a small, hopefully-encouraging smile.  “I guess you’ve had to deal with these kind of long days a lot, yeah?”

He nodded, keeping his eyes forward so she could only see him in profile.  “Yeah,” he answered, his one-word response not exactly effusive.

It was enough to make all her nervous habits awaken.  “I've never really done anything like this.  I mean, I've sat in an auditorium, yes, but I've never filmed in one, with so many people around and trying to not look straight at the camera and everything . . .”

Her babble trailed off as Oliver didn't give any sign that he was listening to her, and Felicity found herself gnawing on her lower lip for a moment before she stopped herself.  She turned her head away from Oliver and rubbed the side of her index finger against her teeth, in case any lipstick had transferred from her lips.  The last thing she needed was to blow a take because she had lipstick on her teeth.

Not when she had already ruined three shots this week: twice by messing up her lines and once by missing her mark.  The last one was extra-humiliating, because hitting your mark was lesson one in acting.  Everyone had been understanding, although she had seen Digg and Lyla exchange a look when she had stood on Oliver's mark instead of her own.

She could guess what they were thinking.  That she was feeling extra pressure, thanks to winning a Golden Globe.  And she was, because now all she was asked was about the Oscar nominations.  Did she think she would be nominated, did she know what people were saying about her, was she excited or nervous?

It had gotten so bad in the makeup trailer this morning, she had actually put her hands over her ears to block out the chatter of the artists with her co-stars Roy Harper, Barry Allen and Sara Lance.  Thank God Twinkie had noticed how tense Felicity had been and had changed the subject without anyone but Felicity knowing the reason why.

Yes, she was nervous.  But not just about the potential of being nominated for an Oscar.  No, she was nervous because something had changed between her and Oliver.  Changed for the worse.  And Felicity didn't know what had caused it or how to fix it.

It had started after the Globes, which was the first confusing thing.  They had been having such a good time together, she thought.  Oliver had been just perfect: friendly, charming, the support she hadn't realized she would need in such a moment.  When he had told her she had been the best thing in the best movie he had seen . . . she had felt like she was living in some beautiful dream.  One of those dreams where she had it all: a successful career, wonderful friends, and a man who understood her, supported her, loved her. 

And then her name had been called as the winner and Felicity was sure she was dreaming.  Especially with the way Oliver was smiling at her, how he stood up to applaud for her.

Everything after that--her acceptance speech, being interviewed by the press, interacting with people at the after-party--was a hazy memory.  She hadn't noticed Oliver acting any differently towards her, but they hadn't gotten to spend much time alone together for the rest of the night.

But then they were back at work the next day, and Oliver was different.  More reserved, quieter in a brooding kind of way, she thought.  There were no more easy smiles, no more jokes, no more pieces of friendly advice when she asked him about Hollywood and the business.  Instead of the easy friendship they had, the friendship she thought could be more, it was like they were just co-stars.   He was too good of an actor, and too much of a professional, to let it interfere with their scenes together.  

Which might have made it worse for Felicity.  Because she didn't understand what had happened, what was causing this distance between them.  But then, to have Oliver as Kevin looking at her, giving her those little smiles that Oliver used to give her . . .

It was messing her up.  Making her doubt herself.  Because the night of the Golden Globes, she had thought that maybe she and Oliver might be--she had thought that maybe he might be interested in her.  Like she was interested in him.

He was just so . . . mysterious.  He had been a partier in his first years in Hollywood, Felicity knew.  Oliver Queen had been frequently featured on TMZ and in Us Weekly, living it up as a young, hot action star.  By the time she had come to Hollywood and started making the social rounds, everyone knew what to expect from Oliver: a good time.  

Yet now that she thought about it, she hadn't really seen him partying that much in the last year or so.  Not that they had ever really moved in the same circles, but when she had run into him at parties or events, there had been a new seriousness to him.  She guessed it might have something to do with the death of his mother, but it wasn't just his personality that had changed.

He had always been friendly to her, even at the height of his fame.  But she thought that maybe he had started looking at her a bit differently.  At the time, she had told herself she was imagining it.  But she had been starting to reconsider her earlier opinion, especially with how things had been going during the Globes.

“Okay, people, looks like we're going to take ten,” Digg announced, sounding frustrated.  “Don't wander off too far.”

Most of the extras pulled out cell phones or stood to stretch.  Felicity did the latter, noticing how Oliver had immediately risen from his seat and stepped into the aisle, walking away from her by a few steps.

With a sigh, she tried to not let Oliver’s remoteness bother her by looking at Sara, who was playing Megan.  Like the relationship between their characters, Felicity and Sara had quickly become friends in the three weeks they had been shooting, building upon their earlier acquaintance.

“How's it going?” Felicity asked Sara as she rolled her head around on her neck.

“Oh, not bad, except for the chill coming off Ollie,” Sara said with a frown.  “He's really stand-offish lately.”

“You think so?”  

Sara gave Felicity a skeptical look.  “You haven't noticed?”

Oh, she had noticed.  But she didn't want to seem like she had noticed.  So Felicity just shrugged.

“I woulda thought you'd pick up on it right away, with how much you and Ollie have been together,” Sara said, raising her arms above her head and displaying her enviable muscle tone.  “He was so smiley for a while, I was wondering if he'd been replaced with an android.”

Doing her best to laugh, Felicity sat back down.  “That would be great publicity for the movie, I guess.  Science develops first humanoid android--and it looks like Oliver Queen!”

“Now he's just an android,” Sara replied.

Before Felicity could respond, her phone started ringing in her pocket.  “Damn, I didn't realize I hadn't . . .” Felicity muttered, giving thanks that her failure to put her phone on silent hadn't interrupted filming.  Withdrawing her phone, she saw that it was Tommy, which made her constant state of low-level nervousness become not so low-level.

“Hi, Tommy,” she said, keeping her voice quiet.

“Hey, Smoaky,” he replied cheerfully and loudly.

Pulling her phone away from her ear, she winced.  “Geez, Tommy, turn down the volume.  And don’t call me Smoaky.”  

“Sorry, Felicity, I’m just excited.  Another bunch of invites came in; I’m going to send them over to your house.  I’ll tell Oliver to keep his tux pressed.”  

“I wouldn’t do that,” Felicity said, her eyes moving around the room until they rested on Oliver.  Taking in the strong line of his shoulders, the absolute flawlessness of his jaw.  He was just so gorgeous . . . and stressed.  

Something was wrong with him and she wanted to fix it.  Wanted to be a source of support for him, like he had been for her.  Even if they were just friends, trying to help him was something a friend would do.  And she wanted to know why he had pulled away from her.  The more she got to know Oliver Queen, the more he became a mystery to her.  One she wanted to solve.

“Why not?” Tommy asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.  

“I . . . I don’t think he had a good time at the Globes,” Felicity replied, still watching Oliver.  

Tommy snorted.  “Oh, he did.  I saw how he was that night and Oliver looked giddy.”  

“Giddy?” Felicity asked, turning her back to Oliver, feeling weird talking about him while she was staring at his back.  

“Oh, yeah.  He was having fun.”  Tommy paused.  “I haven’t talked to Oliver this week--how have things been going on set?”

Felicity gripped her phone so hard, the edges of her bright red phone case dug into her hand.  “It’s been . . . it’s been fine.  You know--we’re shooting the astronaut selection scene today, although we haven’t exactly shot anything yet.”  

“Felicity,” Tommy said, his voice firm yet gentle.  

Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, “Everyone thinks the pressure is getting to me.  And it is, believe me.  But I'm not just worrying about whether I'm getting nominated for an Oscar.  Because Oliver's been acting . . . not like himself.  And maybe what I thought as himself wasn’t accurate, but I've known him for years and I think something is bothering him.  Something that he's keeping bottled up, and I . . . I want to help him, but I don't know how, and I--I don't like that I can't help him, and--”

“Okay, everyone, places!”

The command from one of the PAs made Felicity groan.  “Sorry, Tommy, I have to go.  More later.”

“Don't worry, Felicity,” Tommy said as she moved back to her seat.  “I'm on it.”

“What?  Tommy, no--”

But it was too late.  Tommy had hung up and Oliver was standing next to her, shifting on his feet as he waited for her to get settled before he resumed his seat.

“Oh, sorry,” Felicity muttered, shoving her phone into the pocket of her khakis.

“Did you put it on silent?” Sara asked from Felicity's other side.

“Right, right,” Felicity said, feeling incredibly flustered.  She fumbled for her phone, feeling as clumsy and awkward as she had been in middle school.

Sara reached out and rested a hand on Felicity's shoulder.  “Easy there.  Take a breath.”

Felicity scrunched up her eyes and nodded, drawing a lungful of air into her body.  Then she let it out slowly, imagining she was pushing all her worries and anxiety out of her body, keeping only what she needed to be Claire in the upcoming scene.  When Claire was worried and anxious about whether she was getting picked for the first mission to Mars.

Feeling better, Felicity opened her eyes and calmly slid her phone into her pocket.  She looked up at Oliver and realized his eyes had been on her the entire time.  

And for the first time all week, it was like the old Oliver was back.  Which felt so good that Felicity made up her mind.  If things didn't change with Oliver by tomorrow night, she was going to ask him to dinner.  Have an open discussion with him, not as his co-star but as someone who thought she was his friend, and find out what was bothering him.

Because there were a million women who wanted to date Oliver Queen.  But only a few of those women wanted to be his friend.  And even though Felicity was naturally in the first camp, she was also in the second one.  So she wanted to help him.

When his arm brushed against hers as he took his seat, and she felt the sparks that his touch always caused in her, Felicity took another breath.  Not just to capture a little of that Oliver scent, but to remind herself that she wanted to be friends with him.

Even if right now, all she could think about was touching him in a very non-friend way.

XXX

INT. - AUDITORIUM.

The trainees sit in the auditorium seats, facing the stage at the front of the room.  KEVIN, CLAIRE and MEGAN are seated together, with KEVIN on the aisle.  All three look nervous; CLAIRE is twisting her fingers in her lap.  

KEVIN  
(whispers to CLAIRE)  
Don’t worry.  You’ve got this.

CLAIRE  
(whispers back)  
If I’m lucky, I’m an alternate.

Their heads turn towards the stage as DIRECTOR MCCOY steps to the podium.  

DIRECTOR MCCOY  
Good afternoon, trainees.  In a few moments, seven of you will have a new title: astronaut.  You have worked hard for decades to reach this point, so I won’t make you wait any longer.  We will start with our alternates: Gregory Tyler and Elizabeth DelSanto.  

Applause as GREG and ELIZABETH stand up and walk up to stand in front of the stage.  GREG, contrary to her jokester personality, looks dazed.  ELIZABETH appears disappointed yet trying not to show it.

DIRECTOR MCCOY  
Next:  Claire Johannsen.  

More applause.  CLAIRE stays sitting, her eyes wide, only for MEGAN to nudge her.  Then CLAIRE stands, joy blossoming on her face.  She turns towards KEVIN, who is standing to let her get by, and she hugs him.  KEVIN is surprised by almost immediately hugs her back, a proud, happy smile on his face.  CLAIRE pulls back quickly, looking embarrassed, and smiles awkwardly at him as she steps past him to take her place at the front of the room.  KEVIN keeps smiling proudly at her as he resumes his seat.

DIRECTOR MCCOY  
(with extra emphasis)  
Good to see there’s already a strong relationship between members of our crew.  Kevin Tennant, please join the rest of your teammates.

XXX

“Cut!  Good job everyone!  See you here after lunch.”

With a sigh of relief, Oliver rose from from the cramped auditorium seat, feeling a slight twinge in his back.  A stunt gone wrong two years ago had injured a few discs, and while he was technically fully recovered, there were days that his muscles didn't know that.

And it was those twinges that had first demonstrated to Oliver, in a way nothing else had before, that his days as an action star were numbered.  That he needed to find some other niche to fill in Hollywood, because he didn't want to be forty and popping pills to get through the stunts and the wooden dialogue.

Besides, he was getting really tired of chicken breasts and kale.  He only allowed himself to have steak on his birthday and Christmas.  Oliver used to have steak if his movie opened at number one, but with the downturn in his career, it had been a year and a half since he had eaten a steak other than on a special occasion.

Rubbing a hand over his back, Oliver felt annoyed at letting himself think about forbidden fruit--or, more accurately, forbidden meat--and moved out of the auditorium along with the rest of the cast.  He did his best to keep his face neutral, to not show what he was thinking and feeling, as he made his way to his trailer.  Where he would be able to drop the act and brood in private.

He knew Felicity had picked up on the change in his behavior.  And it was affecting her--a fact that would have thrilled him a week ago.  That she noticed him, that she was concerned about him enough to show how she was bothered . . . last week that would have been enough for him to make a move.  Or at least ask her out to dinner, as a way to spend more time with her.

But now, he could barely stand to be around her.  Because she had only invited him to the Globes because Tommy suggested it, because Tommy had thought it would be a good idea.  Not because she wanted to go with him.

If no one but him could imagine himself with Felicity, he would have to find a way to cope and adjust.  Really, he was getting all worked up over nothing.  It had just been a crush.  An attraction to what Felicity represented: something real and honest and true.  Something that didn't seem to exist in Hollywood.

Just before he stepped into his trailer, he felt the buzz as his phone vibrated.  He paused as he pulled his phone out, remembering what had happened on set.  How Sara had reminded Felicity to put her phone on silent, how flustered she had looked . . .

The phone was still buzzing, so Oliver quickly pushed aside his thoughts to answer the call.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Ollie.”

The sound of the only person he didn't mind calling him Ollie, since she had called him that her whole life, made Oliver smile.  “Hi, Speedy.”

She groaned.  “Seriously, Ollie?”

Chuckling, Oliver dropped onto the steps to his trailer.  “Hey, Thea.  Better?”

“Much,” she says, her smoky voice so different from the high-pitched tones of the girl who used to follow him everywhere as fast as she could.  With living in Paris, it seemed like his baby sister had become a true Parisian--by indulging in a lot of smoking.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Ms. Important Fashion Designer?” Oliver asked, glancing at his watch.  “Especially at dinnertime?”

“Tommy called me.  What's wrong?”

Oliver straightened up from his easy stance, feeling his shoulders tense.  “Nothing's wrong, Thea--how did you get that idea?” he asked, tugging at the collar of his red polo shirt.

“Because Tommy told me something was wrong.”

“I haven't even talked to Tommy this week--”

“Exactly,” Thea interrupted.  “You never go that long without talking to Tommy.  Especially considering you live in his house.”

Shifting, Oliver closed his eyes.  A movie shoot was a great way to avoid the people you lived with.  Because routinely, Oliver was awake and on his way to the set before the sun came up, and when he got home, all he wanted was to rest, run his lines for the next day, and go to bed.  Since Tommy was usually out every night for functions or business dinners, they didn't see each other more than in passing.  

Even before Oliver had started avoiding Tommy because of his part in what had happened at the Globes.

“C’mon, Thea, you know how it is when I'm shooting . . .” he said, going that she might, for once, let him off the hook.

There was a long pause and then Thea sighed.  “Okay.  I do know.  But Tommy is worried about you, which means I'm worried, too.”

“There's nothing to worry about, Speedy,” Oliver said reassuringly.  “I'm just really wrapped up in this project.”

“Which has nothing to do with your co-star, right?” Thea said gleefully.

Damn.  A red flag should have gone up at how easily she had accepted him not talking to Tommy.  Now he had walked right into her trap.

“Yes, nothing,” he replied, hearing the bitterness in his voice.  

Bitterness that his sister had no trouble spotting.  “Oliver?”

Sighing, he dropped his head.  “It's nothing.  I just . . . I thought there might be something there, but . . .”

“But what?  Cause I gotta say, you two looked cute together at the Globes.  And she mentioned you so many times in her acceptance speech.”

“Including how Tommy told her to invite me.”  The words left his mouth before Oliver had even realized he had said them, which made him tense his jaw.  

When he was younger, a hotshot certain that he was going to be on top forever, he had taken a lot of pleasure in saying whatever he was thinking.  But his situation had changed-- _ he _ had changed.  Now he thought through his words, made sure he wasn't taking too big a risk.  Because the person you pissed off today could be the one with your future in their hands tomorrow.

“Did she say that?  I was focusing too much on how she was basically asking you out during her speech,” Thea replied.  “Look, Ollie, clearly you're in a funk about this and I don't understand why.  You like Felicity, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders, even though Thea couldn't see him, and said “Yes.”

“Then stop over-thinking this.  So what if Tommy suggested--not told, because everything I've heard says that Felicity Smoak doesn’t get told to do anything--suggested that she invite you?  She seemed to be enjoying herself with you, and I know you sure as hell were.”

Opening his mouth to argue with her, Oliver didn't get the chance before Thea said softly, “Is this about something else, Ollie?”

Oliver frowned, feeling utterly confused.  “Huh?”

It was almost like he could hear Thea gathering her thoughts.  Choosing her words carefully.  “I know you haven't been very happy the last few years.  That things have been tough.”

“Thea . . .” he said quietly, feeling his mouth go dry.

“I know, Ollie.  I know that you're still working--that you kept working even when you should have stopped for a while because of your back--because of me.”

With everything he had, Oliver wished he could find some acting ability so he could lie to her.  No, not lie per se . . . but he did wish that he could have disguised his feelings better.  So that his little sister didn't feel guilty.

Ten years older than Thea, Oliver was the only family she had left.  Their father had died in a boating accident five years ago, and then three years ago, an earthquake in Starling City had not only killed their mother, but had wiped out the last vestiges of the family fortune.

Now responsible for his sister, and needing to make money, Oliver had agreed to take roles that normally he wouldn't have even considered.  Smaller projects, weaker scripts . . . less-qualified stunt crews.  That was how he had messed up his back.  But he had kept working, determined that Thea would have everything she wanted, everything she needed, after losing both of their parents.

But he had racked up a lot of debts when he was young and stupid.  And with his star fading, he had needed to make sacrifices.  When Thea told him she wanted to go to Paris to design clothes instead of going to college, he had sold his house and used part of the money to help Thea get settled.  The rest had gone to clear the last of his debts.

So yes, financially he was in the clear now.  And if _ The Gravity of Love _ was a success, his whole career would be turned around.  But so much was riding on this movie . . . and now his sister was pointing that out. 

“You don’t have to worry about me--”

“No, Ollie, I know that everything that's happened in the last few years is because of me.  That you did all this to make sure I was okay.  And God, I love you for it.  But you can't let it hold you back.  You are a great actor, Oliver--to say the crap you had to say in those action movies and make it sound real proves that.  You just have to believe that you're good.”

Swallowing, Oliver gripped his phone tightly.  “It's really hard, Thea.  This part, it's asking so much more of me than anything I've ever done before.”

“You can do this, Ollie.  I believe in you, Tommy believes in you, the producers and the director believes in you.  I can't wait to see it, and to tell people how proud I am off my big brother.  Especially when he's nominated for an Oscar and I get to go to the ceremony with him in a gown I've designed.”  Thea’s words might have appeared like she was trying to break the tension with a joke.  But his sister was dead-serious.  She truly believed he was going to get nominated and she would get to go to the ceremony with him.

Oliver didn't know whether to laugh out cry at Thea's confidence.  “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?  The movie’s not even done, and you haven't seen me act in years.”

“If that was an invitation to come visit you and watch you shoot, I accept,” Thea says, her smile practically audible.  

Thea sounded so excited, so proud of him, that Oliver didn't have the heart to say no.  And it had been nearly a year since he had seen her.  So he would scrape up the courage to let his little sister see him work.

“Okay, Speedy,” he said, smiling a little.  “Come visit me.”

“Yes!  I so wanna see you in action,” Thea cheered.  “And help you get Felicity, since you seem to have forgotten everything you know about women since you met her.”

“I’ve known Felicity for years.  It's not that bad,” Oliver protested.  “It's just . . . she's different from anyone I've ever met.”

His sister chuckled.  “Just leave it to me.  You'll be figuring out places to propose by the time I leave.”

“Once again, getting ahead of yourself, Speedy,” he said with a grin.  “Call me when you know when you're coming, okay?”

“You got it.  Bye, Ollie--I love you!”

“Love you, too,” he replied, just before she hung up.

Oliver lowered his phone, the lightheartedness that Thea had inspired lingering.  Perhaps she was right: he was brooding too much, overthinking things.  So what if Felicity had invited him at Tommy's suggestion?  It didn't change the fact that they had enjoyed each other's company.

Maybe if they got to spend some more time together, there could be more.  But to make that happen, he needed to stop acting like such a grump.  Because he had heard the chatter around him: people wondering what had crawled up his ass, why he was so withdrawn.  It wasn't like him to act like that on set and it needed to stop.

The first thing he was going to do was stop freezing out Felicity.  It wasn't her fault that he liked her more than she liked him.  After all, she knew all about his past exploits.  Of course she would only be friendly with him.  Anything more than that would be a stupid decision on her part.

And Felicity Smoak was far from stupid.

Perhaps all there could be between himself and Felicity was friendship.  Perhaps he would always be seen as the weakest actor in this cast.  Perhaps he wasn't good enough.  But God damn it, he was going to try.  Maybe if he could prove himself as an actor, he would be ready for more.

End, Chapter 4

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lengthy delay in getting this chapter out. With all the projects I’m working on, there's only so many hours in the day and it's tough to juggle everything. I don’t know that I’ll be updating this story frequently, but please know that I will not let this story go unfinished. And I hope this chapter is worth the wait!

 

She should have been asleep hours ago.  Getting less than six hours of sleep, with her fair skin, meant the dark circles under her eyes became especially visible.  Poor  Twinkie had enough to deal with just applying her false eyelashes; having to apply under-eye concealer with a trowel to hide Felicity’s lack of sleep was asking too much.

But in less than three hours, the Oscar nominations would be announced.  In less than three hours, she would know if she had a chance at winning the highest honor in the acting profession.  

This was ridiculous.  Even if she got nominated, she was such a long shot to win.  Winning the Globe was probably just a fluke.  There were tons of actors who had won awards without taking home the big prize.  And there was no guarantee that she would be nominated.  As much as Tommy had told her that she was a lock for a nomination, Felicity couldn't believe him.  Or maybe she didn't want to believe him, didn't want to accept that her life was about to change.

Already things were different from before, when she wasn't a Golden Globe-winning actress.  According to Tommy, he was fielding all kinds of calls about her.  Interview requests, photo shoots, meetings with producers, endorsement opportunities . . . she had told Tommy to delay as much as he could, because she just wasn't able to concentrate on anything but her required appearances and shooting  _ The Gravity of Love _ .

Rolling over in bed, Felicity punched her pillows, trying to soften them out.  She laid back and closed her eyes, telling herself to sleep.  Even an hour or two would be better than nothing.  

After a few minutes, though, Felicity gave up.  It was hopeless: she was too keyed up to sleep.  But instead of getting up and taking advantage of this extra time, she pulled one of her pillows to her chest and thought about Oliver.

The same day she had resolved to talk to Oliver, to reach out to him, she had noticed a melting of his icy reserve.  He was still a bit stiff sometimes, but in a way that felt more like shyness or insecurity than dislike or disdain.  Which was just . . . unexpected.  Oliver Queen, shy?  Oliver Queen, insecure?  It was crazy: he was gorgeous and kind and friendly and smart.  Yeah, he didn't have a college degree, but he had so much knowledge about Hollywood and filmmaking.  

Plus, he was smart about people.  He was making choices as Kevin that threw her, that intrigued her.  Their interactions on screen gave the scenes an extra spark, made them interesting.  Both for her as a participant and apparently for anyone watching the scene. 

At least, that was what Lyla had told her.  “It just--the movie comes alive when you and Oliver are together, Felicity,” the writer had told her.  “In a way I never imagined, in a way I've never seen before.”

That made two of them.  Because Felicity had never felt a connection like this to another actor--to another person.  After a month of shooting, she was starting to anticipate how Oliver would react.  John didn't mind extra takes after they got what he wanted, if Felicity and Oliver wanted to try something.  And in those half-improvised attempts, there was just a thrilling energy in matching up with Oliver, going toe-to-toe with him and seeing what he would do.

Felicity yawned, finally feeling relaxed.  She closed her eyes, letting herself drift off into a hazy memory of yesterday's scene:  Kevin and Claire sharing a moment late at night, discussing the grueling nature of their training.  It had been wonderful: quiet voices and little smiles--Oliver was so good at radiating contentment and pleasure with just his eyes . . .

The shrill ring of her phone made Felicity awaken with a gasp.  She must have managed to fall asleep.  But that ring wasn't for her alarm, it was for a phone call . . . and she could hear the text notification chime going like crazy as her phone kept ringing.

With shaking hands, Felicity picked up her phone and saw that it was Tommy.  “H-hello?”

“You got it!  You're nominated!  And not just you--Best Actress, Best Screenplay, Best Director.  It sucks that  _ High Tide _ didn't get Best Picture, too, but hey, all I care about is you.  Congratulations, Felicity Smoak, Best Actress nominee!”

Tommy sounded so incredibly excited.  Felicity just let him talk, holding on to her phone and trying not to freak out.

But . . . she was nominated for  _ an Academy frakking Award _ !

“Felicity?  Felicity, are you still breathing?”  Now her agent sounded worried.

“Oh--oh, yes, I'm breathing, Tommy.  Oh my God, I can't believe it!  I'm really nominated?  This isn't a prank?” she asked him, falling all over her words.

“I would never joke about the Oscars,” Tommy said joyfully.  “Yes, you're nominated.  I'm so proud of you--shit, my phones are ringing off the hook.  I'll talk to you later!”

She didn't even have the chance to say goodbye, or thank Tommy for believing in her, before he hung up.  She lowered her phone, which was still blowing up, and flopped back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.  And then, she fist-pumped and screamed “Yes!” at the top of her lungs.

The non-stop chiming of her phone wasn't even annoying.  It was peppy, cheerful, joyous!  Scooping it up, Felicity quickly composed a text to her mother, complete with emojis and a lot of exclamation points.  Then she started looking at the messages she had received, smiling as she scrolled through the list, starting with the most recent ones.  Dozens of messages from the cast, crew and producers of  _ High Tide _ , various industry people who had her number, her old friends Caitlin and Cisco from MIT, not to mention congratulations from Sara, Barry and Roy.  

And right at the top, meaning it had been the first text received, was a message from Oliver.

  


How did only four words make her feel giddy?  Maybe it was because Oliver, who had told her that he didn't like emojis, had actually used one in his message.  Which meant he had used it because he knew it would make her smile.

Even though she knew there were so many people she had to message back, and she needed to get ready before the car arrived to take her to set, Felicity just had to respond to Oliver's text.

 

She didn't bother to second-guess herself.  She just typed her text, sent it off, and then hopped out of bed, feeling more awake and alive and happy than she had ever felt at four in the morning without coffee.

Dancing to the bathroom, Felicity took a shower, singing as she shampooed her hair.  She got dressed and grabbed her bag, making sure to toss in one of her extra phone batteries.  She had a feeling she would need it today.

Another twenty messages had come in while she was showering, and there were several voicemails that she hadn't even noticed and some emails, too.

It made her feel dizzy as she started going through it all once she was in the car and on the way to the set.  She had to pull a notepad and a pen out of her purple tote bag, just so she could keep track of everything.  But the more she tried to get everything organized, the more confused she became.  

Finally, she shoved her phone in her bag and leaned back against the seat.  She was pretty sure Shado was one of those voicemails, already talking about dresses for the red carpet appearances she would be expected to make over the next five weeks, not to mention her dress for the Oscar ceremony.  Which she was excited about, yes, but suddenly everything started sinking in.  

How was she going to balance shooting  _ The Gravity of Love _ with everything she was now expected to do?  It had been grueling when she had been nominated for a Golden Globe--but the Oscars were so much bigger.  There were so many ways she could mess up, so many eyes on her, so many people telling her what she should do.  It was one thing when her mother tried to do that, but having complete strangers think they were entitled to boss her around?  Felicity felt her skin crawl and her hands ball into fists.

Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe, deep yoga breaths that pushed out the bad and brought in the good.  They at least managed to keep her from totally breaking down, but her initial happiness was getting drowned out by her anxiety and worries.  Because she just didn't know how she was going to do this.

The driver had to tell her they had arrived since Felicity was too caught up in her head to notice that the car had stopped.  Scrambling to gather her bag and get out of the car without tripping, she felt the grip on her fragile sense of calm slipping.

And then she took two steps and her tote, weighed down with everything she was carrying, fell from her hand and scattered its contents all over the ground.

Groaning, Felicity bent down and started picking her things up, moving as fast as she could.  It was okay, she was okay, today was a happy day, she wasn't doing this all alone, she had Tommy and Shado and--

“Felicity?  Need some help?”

Of course.  Of course Oliver would just appear right now, like some knight in shining armor.  Although really he was wearing jeans, a Henley, and a baseball cap that bore the logo of the Los Angeles Kings.

_ His favorite hockey team _ , her mind supplied from some Oliver Queen database that she wasn't aware she had.  The Kings had won the Stanley Cup last year; in her mind’s eye, she could see the picture Oliver had posted to his Instagram, celebrating the win.  And why was she thinking about hockey at a time like this?

Oh, right, because she was on the verge of freaking out.

Oliver didn't wait for an answer before he crouched down and helped her gather the last of her things.  Feeling flustered, she took what he handed her and threw each item into her bag.  “I keep saying I need to clean this bag out, especially when I’m carrying it at the end of the day and it’s so heavy, but I never do and now it got so heavy, I dropped it and everything went everywhere,” she babbled.

“Well, your purse isn't as bad as my sister's,” he said with a small smile as he handed her a red felt-tip pen.  “Thea once broke the zipper on a Prada bag, trying to cram one more thing inside.”

Felicity tried to laugh, but it sounded thin and weak to her ears.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, rising slowly from his crouch.  She noticed how gingerly he moved and wondered why, but then he held his hand out to her.

And for a split-second, she didn't want to touch him.  And she didn't know why.  But that was ridiculous, she told herself.  She could accept Oliver's help, or scramble to her feet ungracefully.

Sliding her hand into his, Felicity felt the sparks begin at her fingertips and spread through her whole body.  It both relaxed and scared her, how good it felt to touch Oliver.  Like . . . like this was what coming home must feel like.

“There we go,” Oliver told her with a smile as she rose to her feet.  “Can't have you missing the Oscars because your bag fell on top of you and kept you pinned to the ground.”

That mental image was so funny--and sadly held more than a grain of truth--that Felicity couldn't help laughing.

He smiled widely at making her laugh, but then Oliver's smile suddenly vanished.  “Felicity?” he asked, sounding worried and confused.

Which was understandable, because now she was crying.

XXX

(A pause as both KEVIN and CLAIRE contemplate what they have said.)

CLAIRE  
(hesitantly, with reluctance)

I should get to bed.

KEVIN  
Yeah . . . so should I.   


(pauses)  
Thank you.  For the pep talk.

CLAIRE  
Oh . . . you don't have to thank me.  Not with how you've challenged me and made me better . . .

CLAIRE scrambles to her feet.

CLAIRE  
Good night, Kevin.

Close up on KEVIN, showing strong emotion

KEVIN  
(voice even)

Good night, Claire.

CLAIRE hurries away towards her room, stepping inside and drawing up short when she sees MEGAN, sitting on her bed and crying.

CLAIRE  
Megan?  

(goes to bed and sits beside her)  
What's wrong?

MEGAN  
(sniffs)

I . . . I’ve washed out.

CLAIRE  
(shocked)

What?

MEGAN  
My physical . . . I have a heart murmur.  I knew about it, but my doctor told me it shouldn't affect me, but NASA doesn't agree.  They’re--they’re asking me to drop out, rather than be dismissed, because of all the bad publicity for the mission.  And if I don't withdraw my name . . . (MEGAN’S voice shakes)

CLAIRE  
(sympathetically, putting an arm around her)

Oh, Megan.  They wouldn't do that.  It wouldn't be fair--it wouldn't be right.  

(takes a breath)  
Do you want to fight this?  I can help--I can talk to--

MEGAN  
(interrupting)

No--no, Claire.  I don't want you to jeopardize your place on the mission.  Because the mission needs you.  

(pauses, as if making up her mind)  
And Kevin needs you.

XXX

Oh, God, what had he done?  One minute Felicity had been laughing and he felt on top of the world, and then she was crying.  And not pretty movie tears, but full-on sobs.

He didn't know what was wrong, but whatever it was, he wanted to fix it.  Acting on instinct, he wrapped an arm around her and started leading her towards her trailer.  She kept sniffing and rubbing her fingers under her glasses to catch her tears as they walked, and Oliver leaned down and kept up a running whisper near her ear.

“It's okay, it's okay . . . it's going to be all right . . . nearly there . . .”

Felicity turned her head, bringing her face against his shoulder as they walked.  He tightened his arm around her, glad that it was early enough that there weren't too many people on set.  Which didn't mean they didn't get some curious looks, but Oliver just gave anyone who looked too closely a look of his own, and they all averted their eyes.

By the time they reached her trailer, Felicity seemed to have stopped crying.  She was taking deep breaths, her cheeks flushed and her eyes watery.  Oliver eased her down on the plaid couch just inside the door, then stepped over to the kitchenette area, rummaging through her mini-fridge.

“You don't have to stay,” Felicity said, her voice cracking a little.

Oliver glanced over at her but didn't say anything at first, focusing on taking out two bottles of water and walking over to her.  “I don't have to, but I want to,” he said, pressing one of the bottles into her hand.  “Drink some water.”

Her lower lip trembled a bit, and her hands were clumsy as she opened the bottle, he noticed.  He sat down beside her, leaving a couch cushion between them.  But she took a few slow sips, then a healthy swallow, from the bottle of water.  She let out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping.

It was so tempting to rest his hand on her knee or shoulder, but Oliver held back.  He wished he could wrap her up in his arms so she would feel safe, so she would tell him what was wrong and he would listen and help her fix it or feel better or whatever she wanted.  But all he did was give her a small, encouraging smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, not looking at him.  Her fingers fiddled with her water bottle, loosening and tightening the cap, tearing the label slowly, then twisting her hands around the bottle.  “I don’t know what happened to me.”  

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, inching a little closer to her.  “I understand.”  

“I wish I did,” Felicity said, looking up at the ceiling.  She took a deep breath.  “I just . . . I was so excited this morning.  The nomination, everyone being so happy for me . . . and then I started to think.  About how much extra work there was going to be, all the publicity, all the extra attention . . . just everything, and it all seemed so big.”  She held the bottle between her knees in order to lift her hands and run them through her hair, then leaned back, keeping her hands above her head.  

Unable to hold back any longer, Oliver lightly touched her arm to get her attention.  “You felt overwhelmed?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  Completely.  And then you were being so nice, and it just--”  

“I know,” he said, because he did.  Sometimes kindness was harder to deal with than antipathy or hatred.  “But that’s the thing, Felicity--you do have a lot more to do now.  But you’re not alone.  You’ve got Tommy, who’s really good at this, and you know Digg will do anything to help you balance everything here on set.”  

Pausing, Oliver looked at her for a long moment.  He knew what he wanted to say, but a part of him thought he shouldn’t say it.  Shouldn’t change things between them.  But Felicity still looked worried, unsettled.  She was biting her lower lip and her eyes were red from crying.  So maybe he shouldn’t add to what she was carrying by changing things between them.

“And you have me.”

Felicity blinked.  “I--I do?”

Hadn’t he decided to not say that?  Oliver wondered what it was about Felicity that made him ignore what he should do, in order to do what he wanted.

And now she looked so hopeful, so relieved, that he couldn’t take it back.  Not that he wanted to take it back; he just wished he hadn’t said it.  Kinda.

He moved his hand as Felicity lowered her arms and shifted to face him.  “What do you mean, Oliver?” she asked curiously.

“I just mean, I’m here to help, too.  Because I’m your friend,” he said, the words feeling strange in his mouth.  “Whether it’s company for a party or taking a nap instead of being on set for my coverage, I want to help you get through this.  This is exciting, Felicity--you’ve been nominated for an Oscar.  There’s not that many people in our business that can say that, and you should enjoy every minute of this.”  

“Enjoy it?” she asked, her face screwed up in confusion.

Chuckling, he nodded.  “Yeah, enjoy it.  Enjoy feeling like you're one of the best.  Enjoy getting to meet lots of people who are gonna fawn over you and make you feel special.  Because you are special, and thanks to this nomination, you get to show the whole world who you are.  You're the one in control right now, Felicity.”

She still looked a little confused--and really adorable--but she nodded slowly.  “It . . . it did feel really great, when Tommy told me.  I may have fist pumped.”

Oliver laughed.  “That's what I mean.  You tell people that, they’re going to remember you.  It's a weird part of the business, letting people feel like they know you while keeping part of yourself back.  Especially when you’ve just been a good working actor up until now.  But an Oscar nomination changes everything.  That's why suddenly everyone is after you--why it feels like they all want a piece of you.  But you can do this, and when you do, everyone's gonna love you, Felicity.”

For some reason, her cheeks went pink and she took another sip of her water.  “You . . . you really think so?”

Unable to help himself, he lightly rested his hand on her knee.  “I know so.”

A deep breath escaped Felicity as she sighed, relaxing back against the couch cushions.  “Thank you.”

Smiling, he shrugged his shoulders.  “It's not much, but I'm not bad with the pep talk.”

Felicity gazed at him for a long moment.  “You're great at them.  I feel like I can take on the world.  That everything's going to be okay.”

Now it was his turn to go red.  Oliver twisted the cap off the bottle of water in his hands and took a drink.  “Um, well--”  His voice sounded strangely scratchy, so he cleared his throat.  “ You're welcome.”

The smile Felicity gave him was still a bit watery around the edges, but she looked much better compared to when she had walked into the trailer.  “We both should get to hair and makeup,” she said reluctantly.

Nodding, Oliver rose to his feet.  “But you're feeling better?”

“Much,” she said, standing up, too.  She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and clasped his hand.  “Thank you, Oliver.”

Her hand was so small in his.  So soft.  He had little scars and callouses all over his fingers and palm, the souvenirs of ten years of action movies, and he wondered if they felt too rough to her.  But then she squeezed his hand, and smiled at him, and Oliver stopped caring about how his hand might feel to Felicity.  And he just focused on how good it felt to touch her.

“You're welcome,” he said, his voice so much deeper than normal.  He coughed a little, hoping he sounded normal.  “You're going to be okay, Felicity.”

“I know,” she said, looking so young and courageous with her wavy hair falling around her shoulders and a determined look in her eyes.  “Because you're going to help me.”  Her eyes went a bit wide and she let go of his hand.  “You and everyone else, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, smiling at her.  “I'll see you later.”

Normally, he would have felt a pang at Felicity pulling away.  At not being able to touch her for longer.

But not today.  He was practically whistling once he stepped out of Felicity's trailer.  Because there was no way for him to deny what his eyes had seen.  

Felicity had felt something when she was holding his hand and talking about having him to help her.  Something more than one co-star to another.

He didn't really know how he knew that.  Why what had just happened was convincing him of Felicity’s attraction to him.  Thea had told him that Felicity was interested in him after the Golden Globes, but he hadn't believed her.  Not then.  But now, he did.  He was certain of it.

So maybe it was time for him to tell her he felt the same way.  That at some point--maybe once  _ The Gravity of Love _ had wrapped--he wanted to go on a date with her.  A real date, one that wasn't about publicity or being friends.  One where they could be their real selves.

Because he thought he had just gotten a glimpse of the real Felicity, and he liked her even more.  Wanted to spend time with her, learn more about her, get to really know her.  And he wanted her to know the real Oliver.  The man he was when he wasn't being “Oliver Queen.”  The man who liked to cook, who would be happy if he never did another ab crunch, who loved his little sister more than life, who liked old movies and baseball and 1970s rock.

He thought--he hoped--she might like that guy.

It was risky to say something now.  They still had six weeks of filming, with the most intense scenes for their characters still to come.  Broaching this topic might mess up the on-screen chemistry.  But Oliver didn't think it would.  And honestly, it was getting too hard to hold back what he felt.  

Sara Lance, whom he had known for years, had even cornered him a few days ago, asking a whole bunch of leading questions about his recent relationship history.  He might think she was interested in him, if it wasn't for two things: he knew Sara and Felicity were friends and how seriously Sara took her friendships.  And he knew that Sara was currently dating a stunning stunt women.

He wasn't fooling anyone if Sara was dropping hints and checking to see if he was good enough for her friend. Everyone must know.  Everyone except Felicity, maybe.

It would be tricky, but he thought he could show Felicity that this wasn't about publicity or raising his profile or anything to do with Hollywood.  This was all about her and him and how they might have something really amazing between them.

Thea was coming to town next week, too.  He knew once she saw him around Felicity, she would go into matchmaker mode.  Which was embarrassing--he might have fallen from Hollywood's pinnacle, but Oliver Queen didn't need his little sister's help to get a date.

At least, he hoped he didn't.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver looked around the set.  It was bustling with people: grips and PAs scurrying around, a wardrobe assistant pushing a rolling rack filled with red polo shirts, electricians and carpenters carrying their toolboxes towards a set that was under construction.  There was a cheerful, quiet hum over it all, the buzz of conversations and ringing cell phones.  It all added up to this feeling of connection.  All these people, joined together in a common cause: helping to make a movie.

When was the last time he just stopped and took it all in?  Oliver didn't know.  But he thought it had something to do with Felicity.  She made him look at everything with new eyes.  She was the final piece, after all the introspection and self-evaluation, after all the different choices he had made in the last two years, to help him become a new man.  A better man.

And he wanted to know how much better he could be with her in his life, beyond these two months on set.

With a small smile, Oliver headed towards the hair and makeup trailer, looking forward to seeing Felicity.  To another day of work that made him feel like a real actor.  And then, to finding some time to talk to Felicity.

End, Chapter Five


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really excited to post this chapter, since it represents a turning point not just for Oliver and Felicity but in the movie, too. Many many many thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, who used her experiences at Space Camp (she went _twice_! And literally ran into Buzz Aldrin!) and general space nerdiness so the science in the movie made sense. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also, be sure to visit this fic’s [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/) so you can see the clothes and accessories that Felicity is wearing!

 

Standing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, Felicity turned her head back and forth, then smiled.  Thea Queen was right: wearing her hair down was definitely more flattering.  

“Not that you don’t rock a ponytail, Felicity.  You do,” the pint-sized fashion student had told her.  “But your hair is so amazing, you should take advantage of it more.”  

Thea might be barely twenty, but she definitely knew how to dress and style herself--and others.  Not only had Thea immediately grasped the look Shado had created for Felicity, but she offered up suggestions that Felicity loved and needed no convincing to try.  She had only known Thea a few days, but she had become someone to rely on when it came to fashion.  And it was help that Felicity definitely appreciated, given how much was going on in her life.  

In the last two weeks, the whirl of Oscar celebrations had begun in earnest, and Felicity had been taking part in all of it.  Tommy had crafted her schedule, accepting invitations to parties and dinners, magazine interviews and photoshoots, all to promote her.  Since she was less well-known that several of the other nominees, Tommy said the interest in her was higher than even he had expected.  

That would be enough to make her nervous, to bring on a panic attack, but then Felicity would remember Oliver’s words and she could feel calm.  Because it was true, what he had told her: she was the one in control.  His reassurance and belief in her felt so amazing, so vital, that Felicity found having a day when she didn’t spend much time with Oliver put her into a little funk.  

Happily, between shooting  _ The Gravity of Love _ and Oliver serving as her plus one at many events, she didn’t lack for his company.  And the more time she spent with him, the more she found herself . . . 

Felicity gazed at herself, pressing her lips together.  That was  _ such  _ a dangerous line of thought.  Because there was so much going on in her life, and  _ The Gravity of Love _ was opening her up to so many different emotions, and she was operating on little sleep and food . . . she wasn’t sure if what she was feeling for Oliver was real.  

Dating another actor had never been something that appealed to her--especially after what happened when she took a chance with Cooper.  Usually on sets, she found herself talking more to the crew members instead of her fellow castmates.  Not that she wasn’t friendly with everyone in the cast, but the other actors, they were so focused on getting ahead, on getting the most close-ups, that they didn’t have anything to talk about except themselves.  And if one half of the couple suddenly became more famous, like she had when  _ High Tide _ had come out . . . well, it hadn’t been fun, getting dumped because Cooper couldn’t handle being less famous, like when he was instructed to hold her purse while the photographers took her photo at premieres.    

Oliver wasn’t like Cooper, or like any other actor she had met.  He didn’t seem to care much about his reputation or hers, what each of their standings were in Hollywood.  When they talked, during breaks or on their way to events, their conversations covered so many different topics.  Food, music, technology, their families and friends . . . he was such a different man than she thought he was.  

And she liked him.  She really, really liked him.  

Especially when she got to see him with his sister.  Thea had arrived for a visit last week and Oliver had proudly escorted her to set, introducing her to the cast and crew.  And everyone quickly liked her.  The wardrobe ladies had practically adopted Thea, the hair and makeup crew let Thea select the morning music, and unless Felicity missed her guess, the intense Roy Harper was definitely crushing on Thea.  

Yet Thea seemed most interested in getting to know her. When Felicity wasn't shooting, Thea would pull her to craft services and the tables of food, asking for Felicity's advice on what choices were the least healthy.  When there were breaks for camera setups, Thea would appear with water for her and Oliver, staying and exchanging chit-chat--and eyeing Roy, to Oliver's discomfort.  Thea had even invited Felicity over for dinner, and insisted that Felicity promise that her first free night, she would join Thea, Oliver and Tommy.  A promise that Felicity couldn't help making, in the face of Thea’s obvious excitement and Oliver's almost-concealed hope.

That was what was making her think that maybe what was going on with her and Oliver wasn't about the movie they were shooting, but about them.  Seeing him with his sister . . . it was the most touching thing Felicity had ever seen.  He was warm, funny, full of love and support.  He was the same Oliver she had seen when they were talking in the hair and makeup trailer or in the car on the way to an event.  The way he was around her?  It wasn't an act.  So falling for him--well, it was easy.  So easy that she found herself second-guessing it.

Because . . . what if it was another example of movie magic?  She had seen it before on other sets: after spending long, challenging days together, people thought they were falling in love.  But then, once the shoot was over, whatever brought them together didn't exist anymore and the relationship fell apart.

She was growing to rely on Oliver.  A lot.  Having him as a friend had changed her life.  Did she want to risk that by trying for more?  Felicity wasn't sure.  Not with how her life was right now.  More and more, she felt like things were falling through the cracks, that she was always on the verge of dropping all the plates she was juggling.  And Felicity didn't like that feeling.

What she should do is table all these thoughts and finish getting ready for tonight's event.  Shado would be here any minute with her dress, and while her hair was done, her makeup wasn't even started.

Forty-five minutes before the car was due to arrive, Shado knocked on Felicity's front door, carrying a garment bag and a tackle box of accessories.  The dress fit perfectly, thanks to Felicity's new ‘barely had time to eat’ diet, and she definitely liked it a lot.  Once again, she was fairly covered up, but the dress emphasized her figure in a way she liked, especially after Shado had raised the hemline.  And the floral print on a pale blue background seemed to walk the line between pretty and old-fashioned.

But when it came to the accessories, Felicity found herself arguing with Shado.

“Don't get me wrong, this piece is interesting, but don't you think it's too much?  It doesn't really go with the dress,” Felicity said with a frown.  The vintage bracelet with attached ring was made from a dark tarnished metal, featuring beetles whose carapaces were made from sickly green stones.

“It gives you some edge,” Shado replied, twitching the skirt of the dress.  “It fits with your nerdy-but-pretty image.”

Felicity looked at herself in the mirror again.  She didn't know why the jewelry was bugging her--no pun intended.  But looking at the bracelet, she just . . . hated it.  She didn't want to wear it and she didn't like how Shado was pushing her.

And then, she remembered what Oliver had told her.  About how all this hoopla was about getting to know her.  Maybe she was a bug jewery person, maybe she wasn't.  Maybe this particular piece was just ugly.  But if Felicity didn't like something, that should be it.  She had the final say.  Not Tommy, not Shado.  Felicity.

With that, Felicity pulled off the bracelet and held it out to Shado.  “Thank you, but I think I'd like to see what else you brought.”

Shado looked at her curiously, her eyebrows drawn together, and Felicity felt like she was holding her breath.  But then, to her great relief, Shado shrugged her shoulders and took the bracelet.  “Okay, let me see . . .”

After a few moments, Felicity's look was finished much more to her liking, with a vintage scarab brooch and a colorful butterfly bracelet.  Taking in her appearance in the mirror, Felicity couldn't help smiling.

“You look good,” Shado said, without a hint of sarcasm or judgment in her voice.  It would seem that Shado was willing to accept Felicity's input--or at least wasn't going to react negatively when Felicity expressed her opinion.  Winning this disagreement gave Felicity a shot of confidence, which she was going to need tonight.

On cue, someone knocked on her front door, and Felicity looked at Shado.  “Thank you!  I'll see you on Friday morning to get ready for the nominee luncheon?  I can't believe I'm a person who goes to luncheons now.  Or even says the word ‘luncheon’.”

Letting out a soft laugh as she picked up her tackle box, Shado nodded.  “Of course.  I'll walk out with you.  I want to see Oliver's reaction.”

Felicity pursed her lips but didn't say anything as she picked up her navy blue clutch.  Another knock sounded on her door, and she pasted on a smile as she opened it.  “Ray, it's good to see you,” she says, greeting her escort for tonight, Ray Palmer.

Before she found out about his plans for tonight, Felicity had every intention of asking Oliver to come to this dinner with her.  But today was the anniversary of his mother’s death.  Oliver was having dinner with Thea, as a way to spend time with his sister.  It was the only chance he had to be with Thea that day, since he had a full day of shooting as a result of her lightened schedule.  So there was no way she could ask Oliver to break his plans with Thea.  And since she hadn’t gotten to ask him to go with her before she found out his plans, she decided she would just make alternate arrangements.  

Tommy had suggested that she have Ray Palmer go with her to the dinner.  “He started off as an engineer before he became an actor, so you'll have things to talk about,” Tommy had told her.  “He's a good guy.”

Deep down, she had felt a strange kind of misgiving.  But going to an event by herself was a deadly dull prospect, as well as slightly terrifying.  And since Oliver wasn't available and they were just friends, what was the harm in going with someone else?  But for some reason, she hadn't told Oliver about his replacement when she had mentioned her plans for tonight during today’s shooting.

Ray, dressed in a flawlessly-tailored blue suit that emphasized his physique, gave her an enthusiastic smile.  “Good evening, Felicity.  You look wonderful.”  He oh-so-lightly brushed his lips over her cheek, then nodded to Shado.  He looked back at Felicity.  “Ready to go, or does your housekeeper need a ride home?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity could see how Shado tensed before she looked at Felicity.  As if she was waiting to see what Felicity would do.  But there was no way that Felicity would let Ray get away with such an insult to her friend.

“This is Shado Fei, my friend and stylist.  Not my housekeeper,” Felicity said coolly.

To his credit, Ray flushed.  “Oh.  I'm sorry, Shado.  I shouldn't have assumed.”

Shado nodded and turned to Felicity.  “See you on Friday.”  She eyed Ray, then moved past him towards her car.

“Well, that's starting tonight off well,”  Ray said in a self-deprecating manner.  He sighed.  “I'm sorry.”

“You apologized to the person that matters,” Felicity replied, knowing she sounded distant but unable to help it.  “You don't owe me anything.”

“I was just so nervous about tonight, I didn't think,” Ray said.  “I kept thinking that if only my audition had been better, I might be your co-star, not Oliver Queen.”

That was news to Felicity, that other actors had been auditioned for Kevin, although it probably shouldn't have been a surprise.   _ The Gravity of Love _ wasn't the kind of movie that Oliver appeared in.  And Ray did have a slight physical resemblance to the description of Kevin.

“Oh?”

Ray took her mild expression of interest and ran with it.  “I really wanted that part.  Started reading up on space, doing my research--that's what I'm known for, really researching my parts.  My last movie, I did ride alongs with real LAPD officers, saw drug busts go down, practiced at their shooting range . . . I really saw the crime that exists in this city first-hand.”  Ray shook his head.  “It was life-changing.  But also really depressing, you know?”

She opened her mouth to agree, even though she wasn't sure she did, but Ray didn't give her a chance to speak.  “That's why I was so interested in  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  It was so hopeful, you know?  Tell me, how is John Diggle directing the actors?  Does he want a more sensitive feel for Kevin, or is the focus more on the action side of the character?”

As Ray kept talking, not letting her get a word in edgewise, Felicity made a mental note to kill Tommy.  Because it was going to be a long night.

XXX

INT. SPACECRAFT KITCHEN -- SPACE

Casual chatter in the background between WALKER, GREG and KEVIN as they drink coffee.  CLAIRE is tapping away on a tablet, reviewing mission reports and messages from Ground Control.

CLAIRE  
(sounding amused)

Okay, boys, time to get to work.  Walker, Greg, it's your turn in the MEM.  And let’s have no napping in the berths, okay?

GREG  
I wasn't asleep!  I was . . . just checking my eyelids for leaks.

KEVIN  
My grandpa used to say that after my grandma woke him up from a nap.

KEVIN floats past CLAIRE towards the pilot’s seat, his hand lightly brushing against her arm.

CLAIRE  
(voice slightly higher-pitched)

Just get the work done, Greg.  Walker, make sure everything’s stowed properly, please.

WALKER  
You got it, Commander.

WALKER and GREG push off, moving through a short, tight passageway into the MEM: Mars Excursion Module.  CLAIRE joins KEVIN at the front of the spacecraft, floating into the commander’s seat.

KEVIN  
(checking controls and flipping switches)

Five bucks says Greg falls asleep again.

CLAIRE  
(straps in and puts on headset) 

No bet, as it wouldn't be seemly for the commander to bet on activities that could negatively impact the mission.

KEVIN looks at her and quirks an eyebrow.

KEVIN  
Ten bucks?

Barely-audible SOUND of something hitting the spacecraft, repeating and growing in frequency.

CLAIRE  
(wavering)

Well . . . 

(glances at KEVIN, then smiles)

You're on.

Loud THUMP, causing CLAIRE and KEVIN to jerk in their seats.  SIRENS fill the air.

CLAIRE  
(immediately serious, but with an edge of concern in her voice)

Report!

KEVIN  
I don't know!  She's moving around like a cat in a washing machine.

KEVIN struggles with controls.  SIRENS continue to sound.

CLAIRE  
Houston, be advised we are suffering extreme difficulty maneuvering--

A HISS as the airlock doors lower between the spacecraft and the MEM, LIGHTS flashing.

CLAIRE  
Walker !   Greg !

XXX

Leaning back in his chair, Oliver couldn't help smiling as he took in two of his favorite people on Earth.  Thanks to his long-standing friendship with Tommy, Thea considered Tommy like another brother.  The cool brother, the one who egged her on and encouraged her mischievous side.  Although being around Tommy made Thea more of a handful, Oliver had always been glad to know he could rely on Tommy to watch out for his baby sister.  She was the only real family Oliver had left--a thought that had been front and center in his mind today, the anniversary of his mother’s death.

“I'm telling you, Tommy, you were lucky to be out that night,” Thea said, grinning as she finished telling the story of Oliver's recent misfire in the kitchen.  “I thought Ollie was going to have kittens.  ‘What do you mean, you thought  _ that _ was sugar!?!’”

Thea giggled and Tommy grinned.  Knowing what was expected of him, Oliver said, in a mock-grumpy tone, “Salt and sugar look totally different.”

“Not that different, big brother.  Sorry I wrecked your test-run for dinner with Felicity,” Thea said with a smirk.  

Tommy stared at Thea, then his head whipped around to look at Oliver.  “You asked Felicity out?  For real?  It's about time, man!”

Oliver frowned, feeling like he had missed something.  “What?”

His best friend rolled his eyes.  “It's obvious to everyone how you feel, Oliver.  I don't know why it's taken you this long to ask her out, but I couldn't be happier.”  Tommy opened his mouth as if to say more, but then he stopped, his eyes widening slightly.

Looking at Tommy curiously, wondering what was going on, Oliver shifted in his seat.  “Actually, I didn't ask her out.  Thea invited Felicity over for dinner, so I was testing out a new crème brûlée recipe.”

“Because it's Felicity's favorite dessert,” Thea added.

“But you haven't asked her out yet?” Tommy asked, leaning forward.  “Why not?”

“Yeah, Ollie, why not?”

When Oliver turned to give his sister a look, Thea held a hand up.  “Look, I know I teased you about it before I came here--”

“You were teasing me not even five minutes ago,” Oliver interrupted her with a grumble.

Thea rolled her eyes.  “If I could finish?”  Barely waiting for Oliver's nod of agreement, Thea barreled on.  “Now that I've seen you two together, I'm with Tommy.  Why haven't you asked her out?  On a real date, Ollie.”

Oliver took a deep breath, feeling all his insecurities flare up.  Why hadn't he asked Felicity out?  Because he was a meathead actor, trying to be more but well aware of his limitations, while Felicity had a natural talent and ability, further refined by her hard work and great intelligence.  Plus, she was beautiful and kind and optimistic, even after years in a business that grinded down young women until their eyes were dead and their souls were crushed.  That was why he had tried to keep Thea far away from Hollywood, at least until she was a bit older and better prepared for the world.

Yet Felicity still had a spark, an aliveness about her.  She wasn't like that poor struggling starlet who had passed out from hunger, or the young actresses who were willing to do anything for a part.  She was . . . she was good.  She made him want to be good, to do more.  Even though he wasn't sure he was capable of more.

Was it any wonder that he was hesitating?  Especially considering the little matter of the movie they were shooting?

“There's a lot of reasons,” he began, only for Tommy and Thea to both roll their eyes in unison.

Unexpectedly, Oliver felt a stab of anger.  If they were going to badger him into talking, couldn't they at least give him the courtesy of listening to him and letting him say his piece?  Without acting like a peanut gallery?

He loved both of them.  But it was a bit challenging when they acted like this.

So instead of saying anything more, he picked up his glass and finished the last of his Scotch.

Thea looked confused at his silence.  “Ollie?”

“If you aren't going to listen to my reasons, what's the point?  Otherwise, you're just looking for entertainment, and I'm not a dancing monkey, Thea,” he says quietly.

His sister flinched.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tommy look contrite--and guilty.  Oliver wondered what was going on with his best friend/manager, but his attention was drawn back to Thea when she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of his.

“I'm sorry, Ollie.  I didn't mean to make you feel like that--I just know how you are.  I know you don't think you deserve everything you have, and I just don’t get it.  And sometimes I forget that my big brother doesn't know how great he is.”

Ducking his head, Oliver took a deep breath.  “Thanks, Speedy,” he said, turning his hand so he could wrap his fingers around hers. 

She gave his fingers a squeeze, a stronger one than he expected.  “Anytime,” she replied softly, smiling at him.

Tommy's hand landed on Oliver's shoulder.  “I, personally, think you're great, too.  It's why I only charge you five percent instead of ten like all my other clients.”

“Sure, Tommy,” he said, chuckling.  

“So, why are you hesitating?” Tommy asked as he lifted his hand to gesture to their waitress for the check.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “To start, there's  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  I . . . I really feel like I'm doing good work.  And it's partly because Felicity and I have a good rapport together.  There's a lot riding on this--not just for me, but Felicity, John, Lyla, the rest of the cast and crew . . .”

With Tommy's nod off acceptance and Thea's sympathetic expression, Oliver kept going.  “Felicity is going through a lot right now and I don't want to add to that.  And after all, it's not like I've ever had a successful relationship.  I've never dated anyone longer than four months.”

Pausing, he took in their faces, trying to guess what they were thinking.  But they were both acting like they had a straight flush without giving anything away.  He took a breath, working up his courage.  “I just don't think  _ now _ is the right time to ask Felicity out.”

“Now?” Thea asked, clearly hearing the emphasis he had put on the word.

“Yeah . . . I was planning to ask her out when we wrapped up shooting.  That's slated to be the week after the Oscars, so . . .” Oliver let his voice trail off, then cleared his throat.  “Because then, most of my reasons won't apply anymore.  And if I’m not seeing her every day, I'll--I'll need something to hold on to.  Like a date.”

As before, both Tommy and Thea's faces showed the same expression.  But this time, it was excitement and happiness.  And Oliver felt warm all over.  Like maybe he wasn't the screw-up and waste that his father had accused him of being.  Because at least he had people that really cared about him, no matter what.  That was more than Oliver could say about Robert Queen.

He might not be a success the way his father had wanted, but maybe he could be a success in his own way.

“And if I chicken out, you have my permission to kick me in the ass,” Oliver said, rising from the table.

Thea snorted.  “Like we need your permission.”

Giving his sister a smirk, Oliver turned to Tommy, who was now looking really worried as he finished speaking to a vaguely familiar man.  “Tommy?” Oliver asked, wondering if this was related to his friend's odd reactions during dinner.

“The place is surrounded by paparazzi,” Tommy said with a sigh.  “Both entrances.  The manager apologized, since it seems an employee tipped off the photographers.”

This wasn't the first time this had happened, although it had been a while since he merited such treatment.  He frowned, focusing on the best way to handle this.

“You two caveman can stop worrying about poor defenseless Thea,” his sister said.  Oliver realized that Tommy's forehead was creased with worry, probably just like his.

“At least Tommy's here.  Thea, stick with him and I'll deal with the press.  Tommy, where's the car?” Oliver asked, automatically falling into his standard patterns when he had to interact with the paps.

“Back entrance,” Tommy said, leading them through the restaurant and out through the kitchen.  As soon as the three of them stepped out the door, a barrage of flashes greeted them.  Tommy pulled Thea to the side, edging around the crowd towards the waiting car.

Meanwhile, Oliver pasted on his charming Ollie smile and nodded to the photographers as he walked through the scrum.  They all shouted questions as their camera shutters clicked, but Oliver ignored them and just kept his smile in place.

That is, until one of them yelled out, “Oliver, is Felicity cheating on you with Ray Palmer?”

Every muscle in his body tensed.  He came to such a sudden stop, a cameraman ran into him.  The camera dug into his back, right near one of his sore spots, but Oliver didn't feel it.  He wasn't aware of anything, except the question ringing in his ears.  Repeating over and over and over again, to go with the mantra he started saying to himself.

_ Don't react don't react don't react . . . _

He couldn't give any sign of what he was thinking.  What he was feeling.  The cameras were already flashing more, the photographers seeing his sudden stop as blood in the water.  Because they would all love to get pictures of Oliver Queen going apeshit.  Like in the old days, when he would let his anger out when he was drunk and break a few cameras, get some attention for himself, and then go sleep it off or fuck the nearest willing woman.  

That was a life he had turned away from long ago, and it had taken a lot of work to repair the damage to his reputation.  Work that he couldn't afford now, with the perilous state of his career and how Thea depended on him.

And if he smashed all the cameras here, it wouldn't come close to eliminating his anger.  Because this wasn't just anger.  It was complete desolation.

It was only four feet to the car, the back door standing open for him.  With every bit of strength he possessed, Oliver crossed the pavement and got into the car, not caring if the paparazzi got pictures of him looking like he was ready to kill.  

Because that was how he felt.

As soon as the door closed, the driver took off with a squeal of tires.  Thea, next to him in the back seat, reached out and touched his arm.  “Ollie . . . you know they were just trying to get a rise out of you . . .”

He nodded, keeping his head down.  Trying to get his emotions in order, because even though he wanted to totally let loose, he didn't want to scare his sister or his best friend.  What he was feeling scared him, for that matter.

Was this how it felt when your heart broke?

Thea was right: the photographers were trying to get a reaction from him, just like always.  He didn't know where they had gotten the idea of Felicity dating Ray Palmer, of all people, but they would love it if they could trumpet that another Hollywood romance was on the rocks.

The joke was on them, though.  There was no romance between Felicity and him.  Not yet.  And maybe . . . not ever.  Not if it hurt this much to consider Felicity with someone else when they weren't even together--

No.  No, that was letting his fear get in the way.  

Lifting a hand and running it over his face, he looked at Thea and gave her his best attempt at a smile, although he knew it didn't convince her.  Then he looked at Tommy, and his blood ran cold.

Suddenly, Tommy's worrying and guilty expression made sense.  But not in a way that Oliver liked.

“You knew.”

His voice was quiet, but it seemed louder in the confines of the car.  Tommy lowered his head as Oliver kept speaking.

“You knew Felicity was out with Ray Palmer tonight.  You probably set it up, like you set up me and Felicity.  Is that what you're doing, Tommy?  Helping Felicity trade up?  Gonna ride her coattails now, since I'm a washed-up action star making a fool of himself by trying to be a real actor?”

“Ollie, don't,” Thea said, grabbing his arm.  Oliver shrugged her off, waiting for Tommy's response.

Tommy looked and sounded frantic.  “Oliver, I swear, it was just business--I know how much you like Felicity, but I didn't know it was this much, and since you couldn't go with her tonight, since she knew it was the anniversary of your mom’s death, I suggested she go with Ray.  She's not going to like that pompous jackass, not when she likes you so much.  I know she does, Oliver--please, believe me.”

“Stop the car, please,” Oliver said to the driver.  He waited for the driver to pull over, then looked at Thea.  “I need some time.  Go home and I'll call you by midnight, so you know where I am. “

Thea clutched his arm, her eyes watery.  But she nodded and leaned over to kiss his cheek.  “I love you, Ollie.  Always.”

The words caught in his throat, tangled with tears and screams.  He returned her kiss, then climbed out of the car.  He stepped aside, watching the car drive away slowly for several minutes.  As if they were waiting for Oliver to change his mind.

But he wasn't going to.

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Science is hard. Thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, the details about space travel in the movie script actually make sense and have some bearing on reality! :-) Also thanks to andcreation for reading this chapter, too, and being a great cheerleader.
> 
> I already have the next chapter done, so the next update will probably be in two weeks. I’m finally getting close to the moment that inspired the whole fic, so I’m picking up the pace. Thanks for hanging in there with me during the sometimes lengthy wait for chapters!

****Slumping down in the makeup chair, Felicity looked at herself in the mirrors and sighed softly.

She had always thought that going to an event alone was more trouble than it was worth.  What did you do during the boring parts?  In spite of the importance of technology in daily life, the perception remained that checking your phone was rude while talking to the person you came with wasn't.

But after last night, Felicity was fully prepared to look rude if it saved her from another evening with Ray Palmer.

It wasn't that Ray was a bad guy or anything.  He hadn't made inappropriate overtures, didn't make racist jokes or talk about looking for a woman to cook his meals or darn his socks.

That didn't change the fact that she didn't like him.  Because he was like almost every other actor she had ever met.  All he wanted to talk about was himself--or _The Gravity of Love_.  Asking her questions about how Digg was directing, what choices Oliver was making, if Malcolm Merlyn visited the set often--it had been a constant interrogation.  Felicity knew she talked a lot, but at least she allowed people to get a word in edgewise!

From now on, she wasn't going to take Tommy's advice about dates.  She even pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text to him, saying that whatever he did, Tommy should stonewall Ray.  Because while she thought she had let Ray down easily, telling him she wasn’t interested in getting dinner with him this weekend, the texts that Ray had been sending her told her she had been a little too subtle.  Hopefully, Ray would get the message she wasn't interested, if he heard it from Tommy as well as her.  

Placing her phone back in her bag, Felicity sighed.  If only she could have taken Oliver.  It would have been a lot more fun.  And she would have liked to have known what he thought of her dress.  Because ever since Shado had mentioned it, the thought was in her head.  Wanting to see how Oliver would react to the sight of her all dressed up--not that he hadn't already seen that, with going with her to the Golden Globes, but the clothes she was wearing now were a lot fancier.  A far cry from the khakis and red polo she wore as her costume.

At least now they had spacesuits to wear.  Not that the suits were at all flattering, but--

Wait.

Felicity grabbed her bag and fumbled through it, looking for her script.  The first one she found was an older draft and she let out a little growl of frustration as she kept digging.  How had the older script ended up closer to the top?  This was taking a little too far the maxim that whatever you were looking for was always at the bottom of your purse.  Also, why hadn’t she _still_ cleaned out her bag, after it had exploded two weeks ago?

Finally, she found the script she was looking for and started flipping through its pages.  It only took a moment for her to confirm her suspicion.  

By the end of next week, they would be shooting the love scene.

Slowly lowering the script, Felicity let it rest in her lap as she tried not to freak out.  How had she managed to forget that this scene was coming?  When she had first been considering this role, the intimate, emotional, technically difficult love scene had been one of her biggest concerns.  Especially when she realized she would be performing opposite someone who had been named People's Sexiest Man Alive--twice!  But at some point, she had managed to forget this scene was coming.

And now it was nearly here, and she would have to pretend to have sex with Oliver.  Oliver, with his eyes and his lips and his--

She was going to have to kiss Oliver.  She was going to find out what kind of kisser he was.

Her hands went clammy.  Her stomach swooped.  And she was pretty sure she licked her lips.

Finding out what kind of kisser Oliver was seemed like both the best and worst thing ever.  Because . . . _Oliver_ .   _Kissing_ Oliver.

“Hey, Felicity,” Twinkie said with a smile.  “How's it going?”

“Oh--um, good,” she replied, grateful for the makeup artist's question.  It snapped her out of her spiral, letting her pause and think.

Or at least, put this aside until she was alone and could deal with it.  Hopefully with the application of mint chip ice cream and a phone call to someone like Sara.

Decisively closing her script, she slid it into her bag and gave Twinkie a small smile.  “Today is better than yesterday.  At least now I know that Ray Palmer is only interested in himself.”

Twinkie nodded as she brushed out Felicity's hair.  “Yeah, he's very . . . focused.  Did Ray go with you to the Vanity Fair nominees dinner?”

“Yeah.  I wished I had just gone by myself, once I found out Oliver was having dinner with his sister,” Felicity said.

Since she could see Twinkie in the mirror, it was easy to glimpse the look she gave Mel, who nodded in response to whatever silent statement Twinkie had made.

It sparked Felicity's curiosity, but the makeup trailer's door opening stopped her from asking the artists what was going on.

And then she saw Oliver settle into the chair in front of Mel, looking tired and very, very sad.

He was trying to act like he was okay, she thought, turning her head a few fractions of an inch to get a better view of him.  He wasn't sitting with slumped shoulders or his head down, his eyes weren't bloodshot or watery.  But . . . but he just didn't look like the Oliver she had gotten used to seeing.  The man with a quiet confidence, a comfort in his own body, an air of contentment floating around him.

Something was wrong.  And she wanted to know what it was, because with a determination and desire she had rarely experienced, she wanted to help him.  Because it hurt her to know that Oliver was sad.

Biting her lower lip, Felicity wracked her brain, searching for some way to strike up a conversation with him.  

“You look about as good as I felt by the end of last night.  Not that you don't look good, you look great like always, you just look . . . tired,” Felicity finished weakly, wishing that she had a brain-to-mouth filter like other people did.

Oliver frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down, before he looked over at her.  “Tired, huh?” he asked, his voice low and scratchy.

“Yeah,” Felicity said.  “Are you coming down with something?  You sound like you have a frog in your throat.  An expression I've never really understood,” she babbled as Oliver stayed quiet, his eyes locked on her.  “I suppose it means you're croaking like a frog, but I've never really thought my voice sounds like that when I've got a cold.”

To her surprise--and complete delight--Oliver suddenly smiled.  It was brief and weak, but he smiled.  If babbling was what it took to cheer Oliver up, she would go off on tangents until he smiled for real.

“I . . . my night didn't go how I expected it would,” Oliver said finally, after another long silence.

He turned towards the mirror when Mel purred, “Face front, _mi amorcito_ ,” which made continuing their conversation more difficult.  Especially with two chairs between them.

And just what did “ _mi amorcito_ ” mean?

For a few minutes, there was just Twinkie's classic rock and soft conversations inside the makeup trailer.  Mel was talking to Oliver about Puerto Rico, where Oliver had shot a movie a few years back, and Felicity noticed how even when talking about the food--a topic that would normally bring out Oliver’s enthusiastic side--he was quiet and withdrawn.  That, more than anything, helped Felicity make her decision.

Up until now, she had tried to be just friends with Oliver.  Because anything more was risky, considering the circumstances.  There was so much going on in her life, she really shouldn't be thinking about making any big changes--like starting a romance.  And what was more, Oliver had been a rock for her.  First with the Golden Globes and now with the Oscars.  His advice had proven to be spot-on and his jokes and belief in her had never failed to lift her spirits.

If they were friends, he deserved to get the same support from her.  Even if it was motivated by less-than-just-friends feelings.  On her end, at least.  Because it was Oliver Queen, after all.  He was gorgeous and funny and smart and kind, and the biggest marshmallow when it came to his sister and so incredibly loyal to Tommy . . .

He was a good guy.  No--he was a good man.  And it made her sad to see him feeling unhappy.  

“My night wasn’t great,” Felicity said slowly, glancing over at Oliver as much as she could.  “I . . . I was going to ask you to go to this dinner with me, the one that Vanity Fair throws for Oscar nominees, until I found out what yesterday was.  So I took Tommy’s advice to go with Ray Palmer, since I hate going to industry events by myself.  But never again.  I’d rather go by myself.”

There was a long moment.  Felicity gave up on being subtle and turned her head to look at Oliver, trying to tell what he was thinking.  His hands were resting lightly on the arms of his chair, but she could see how the fingers on his left hand, the hand closest to her, were twitching.  Like he was rubbing them together.  

“Oh?” he asked, sounding so very casual that Felicity knew it was an act.  

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head emphatically, much to Twinkie’s chagrin.  “Oh, sorry, Twinkie.  But yeah, Ray . . . well, he seems like a nice guy, but--but he’s really focused on his career right now.  Too focused for anything else.”  

Was that saying too much?  Was it implying that she wasn’t focused, that she didn’t care about her career?  Because she was invested, but she wanted more in her life than her career.  But in the same breath, she didn’t want to give Oliver any ideas about changing things between them.  Not with how muddled her head was at the moment.

Oliver shifted.  “I . . . I’m sorry your night wasn’t good.  I--I actually got cornered by some photographers after dinner, and they mentioned you were at dinner with Ray.”

“Oh, God, Oliver,” Felicity said, feeling her heart sink.  “And with what yesterday was--I’m so sorry . . .”  

“It’s okay.  It’s not your fault.  And Tommy explained it,” Oliver said, gesturing with his hand as he brushed aside her concern.  But she could see the way his face twisted at the mention of Tommy, which made her frown.  

Had something happened last night between Oliver and Tommy?  She knew how close Tommy was to both Queen siblings; both Thea and Oliver had mentioned how long they had been friends with him.  And given what yesterday was--the anniversary of the death of Moira Queen--not just Oliver was affected by that, she bet.  

Perhaps, with all the emotions, Oliver and Tommy had gotten into some kind of a fight?  As a way to handle grief, Felicity knew the appeal of getting angry.  Of lashing out at someone, pushing their buttons until they got angry right back.

Twinkie, who had been working away on her hair and makeup, said cheerfully, “Okay, Felicity, just the false eyelashes and we'll be done.”

She tried to smile back, then glanced over at Oliver.  “Seeing Twinkie fight to put on my eyelashes might cheer you up.”

Oliver managed another small smile.  “Thanks.”

When he didn't say anything more and turned back to face the mirror, Felicity knew she should just let him have his space.  She didn’t want to seem pushy, especially since this was the first time she was really reaching out to him.  Knowing all that, her mouth still decided to act.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

XXX

INT. SPACECRAFT -- SPACE

CLAIRE sits at a terminal, KEVIN floating behind her.  ON SCREEN are two video windows, one with WALKER and GREG and the other with FLIGHT DIRECTOR MCCOY.

WALKER  
(frustrated)

So you're telling us that we might not be able to go to Mars because of the airlock being closed?  And it closed because of a little debris?

KEVIN

It wasn't just a little debris.  And how the hell could we continue the mission with you and Greg alone in the MEM?  Neither of you are trained on the insertion maneuvers--it’s not something Claire or I could talk you through.

GREG

I’ll show you insertion maneuvers.

WALKER rolls his eyes, KEVIN groans.  CLAIRE’S cheeks go pink while MCCOY looks unamused.

MCCOY

We also don’t know what impact the closed airlock will have on the MEM.  It wasn’t designed for sustained flight alone.  

WALKER  
(anger rising in his voice)

Just like NASA: it's not about the science.  The pretty flyboys come first and screw everything else.

KEVIN                                     GREG

What the hell?                         Walker, don't be like that--

CLAIRE  
(at top of her voice)

Enough!

All go silent.

CLAIRE  
(takes a breath and smooths her hand over her hair)

We have ten days before we would make the slingshot around the Moon to begin the trip to Mars.  That's the fail-safe point.  If NASA, who does care about science, can't figure out how to fix this by then, we'll have to go home.  Even if they didn't order us, I would do that.  I won't risk our safety and jeopardize our mission otherwise.

WALKER

But the whole world is counting on us to go to Mars, Claire.  You do remember how our planet is dying, right?  There’s only fifty years left, if we’re lucky.  If we fail, that pushes back colonization at least two years.  Think of the ripple effects.

GREG

If we don't go, the people of Earth will lose all hope.

CLAIRE

Think of the hope they'd lose if the four of us were killed because of our own egos.

KEVIN

Claire's right.  We have to do this right, and this incident, it's stacking the deck against us too much.

(rests his hand on CLAIRE'S shoulder as he leans in towards the screens)

C’mon, guys.  You know that.

WALKER and GREG exchange glances, then WALKER grudgingly nods.

MCCOY

We are doing everything we can try to find a solution.  In the meanwhile, go about your duties to the best of your abilities.

CLAIRE

Yes, sir.  This is _Nerine_ out.

MCCOY nods and ends video conference.  GREG, using slightly more force than necessary, stabs the button to turn off their camera.  CLAIRE sighs, then does the same before looking up at KEVIN, whose hand is still on her shoulder.

CLAIRE

So . . . just me and you.

KEVIN  
(startles slightly and drops his hand from her shoulder)

Um, yeah.  Just me and you.

XXX

After a bad night, getting up at four in the morning was even more difficult than normal.  Not that he had slept that much, with being in a strange room and his mind working a million miles an hour.  Because he couldn't stop going over everything that had happened last night.  And before that, too.  Going over a thousand different interactions between himself and Tommy over the years, trying to see if last night was just a random set of bad decisions and unexpected consequences, or if it was more than that.

He hoped there weren't going to be a lot of close-ups on him today.  Because Digg and the director of photography were going to have a bitch of a time lighting him so he didn't look like death warmed over.

A soft knock on the door made Oliver sit up and call, “Come in.”

The man himself stood there, a mug dwarfed by his hand.  “Coffee’s ready if you're interested.”

Nodding, Oliver rose to his feet, trying not to feel flustered in his wrinkled suit trousers and white undershirt.  He followed Digg to the kitchen, that embarrassed feeling growing.

Last night, after he had gotten out of the car, Oliver hadn't known what to do.  Who to talk to.  The betrayal and sadness were like a hand gripping his throat, cutting off his air and making him feel like he was drowning.  Who could he call for help?  For so many years, his first call was to Tommy.  And as much as he wanted to call Felicity, he knew what a bad, bad, _bad_ idea that was.

Walking for a half-hour or so, in a residential neighborhood, wasn't the smartest idea.  He needed to find a place to stay for tonight, but he didn't want to deal with the press again.  That ruled out a hotel, since paparazzi always had the big hotels staked out.  And as he looked through the contacts on his phone, Oliver realized just how isolated he had become in the last few years.  He had once been the life of the party, but now, so many of the names and numbers were mysteries to him.

And then, he realized who he could call.  There was a moment of hesitation, wondering if it was appropriate or would negatively affect him.  But Oliver found he didn't really care, so he called Digg.

His director had taken it all in stride.  After a brief conversation, Digg and Lyla arrived at his location and drove him back to their home.  They didn't push him or ask questions, just made small talk and showed him to a guest room.

But it would seem that Digg had just been biding his time, Oliver sensed as he poured himself a cup of coffee.  Digg let him drink a few swallows before he said anything.

“What happened last night?”

Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “I got into a fight with Tommy and I just . . . I needed to get away.  And since I'm living in his house . . .”

Digg eyed him for a long moment, his regard heavy and slightly discomforting, but not in a skin-crawling way.  Not like it was with producers like Malcolm Merlyn, who pretended to be concerned when they were only worried about the money.  No, Digg was actually interested in his well-being.

“It's hard, mixing friendship with business,” Digg said.  Clearly testing the waters to see if Oliver wanted to talk.

But he didn't.  Not about Tommy.  Because then he would have to explain what had caused his tantrum, and opening up like that to his director--revealing his feelings for Felicity--wasn’t something he was going to do.

“I promise, Digg, this isn't going to affect my work,” he said.  “I am more committed to _The Gravity of Love_ than any other project I've ever worked on.”

“I know,” Digg said.  “You've been putting out a great performance, Oliver--and even better, you’ve been acting like a professional.”

The simple words of praise made Oliver feel warm all over.  He ducked his head, feeling his face flush a little.

“I'm glad to hear you don't want anything to get in the way of your work, because I've been very impressed with you.  I think this role is going to be a turning point for you,” Digg said, his eyes steady as he looked at Oliver.

“Yeah?” Oliver couldn't help asking.  Because this felt so good, he almost didn't trust it.

“Yeah,” Digg said, draining his coffee.  “Come on, let's get to set.  It's early enough that there won’t be a lot of people around to see you looking like that.  And I'll check the schedule to see if we can finish with you a bit early today.”

It was left unspoken he was getting the time so he could talk to Tommy.  Oliver wanted to protest, but one look at Digg's face made him hold back.

As Digg drove to the studios, Oliver tried to hold on to the praise from his director.  But it was hard, when he was also trying to figure out what to say to Tommy.  He knew he had lashed out at his best friend, because it felt like his agent had interfered with his friendship with Felicity.  The fact that his best friend and his agent were the same person made this even harder.

But the sooner Oliver resolved this and apologized, the better.  Because freaking out on Tommy, worrying Thea--that wasn't who he was.  So even though he wanted to have a long talk with Tommy about boundaries, that couldn't happen until he had at least admitted to his oldest friend that he, Oliver, had been in the wrong.

He could only hope Tommy would be willing to talk to him.

Figuring he should get an early start on hair and makeup, but knowing he needed fresh clothes, Oliver went to his trailer and changed into the extra jeans and Henley he kept there.  Then he went right to the makeup trailer, his heart sinking a little when he realized Felicity was already here.

And that made everything from last night rush back.  Feeling blindsided when the photographer had told him about Felicity and Ray Palmer.  Realizing he might have missed his chance with Felicity, before he had even really gotten one.  And worst of all, thinking that it was his best friend's fault instead of his own.

Because he couldn't blame Tommy for suggesting Felicity take someone else to her dinner.  That was what an agent did.  He was just doing his job.

Sitting in a makeup chair, Oliver tried to not let on how he was feeling.  How much he wished he could find a way to unstick his tongue and just go for it with Felicity.  If it had only been about his heart on the line, it would be simple.  But it wasn't just about him: it was about the movie, about his career, about hundreds of people.  He had been a selfish dick as a young actor, never considering the big picture or the consequences of his actions, and he wasn't about to go back to that kind of behavior.

Felicity seemed nervous for some reason; she was babbling a bit and she kept looking at him.  It was like she was trying to lift his spirits, and to his surprise, it worked.  Especially when she told him she hadn't enjoyed spending time with Ray.  He found himself telling her that he already knew she had been out with the square-jawed actor.

That was what he did, though--he told her things he hadn’t planned to say.  That something he liked about her:  how she made him smile, how she made him feel safe so he could talk about anything.  There were people in the business he had worked with for years before he had even mentioned to them he had a sister.  But Felicity . . .

He was so close to falling in love with her.  And it was exciting, and scary, and unsettling, and amazing.  Oliver had never felt like this before.  Like he was lost in her, but also found.  Maybe this was what love was supposed to be like.  He didn't know; he had been around so few examples of real love and commitment in his life.  First growing up among the crème de la crème of Starling City society, then coming of age as a young man in Hollywood.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Felicity's question was simple, but the answer was very complicated.  Because yes, he did want to talk about it.  About the fight with Tommy and the mean things he had said.  Words that would show her just what kind of man he was.  Because even though he was apologetic about asking Tommy if he was trying to trade up, he also wondered if that was the truth.  If Tommy thought Oliver was making a fool of himself, and as both his agent and his friend, he was holding his tongue and waiting for Oliver to crash and burn.  

If she knew the dark, brooding thoughts he was prone to, if she knew how close he always was to slipping back into his old habits and ways . . . would she still want to be his friend?  Would she consider going out with him, if he ever found the courage to ask her?

Oliver just didn't know.  But maybe he should find out.  Before it got too late.  Before he wouldn’t be able to keep himself together if Felicity began to withdraw.

Taking a deep breath, he looked over at her.  Somehow, he slowly found an explanation.  “I. . . I got mad at Tommy.  I accused him of putting you first as a client, by holding back on the fact that you were out with Ray.  I know we're just friends, but it still bothered me.  Because I know how much the pressure was affecting you and I liked being the one to help you.”

“Twinkie, give me a minute,” Felicity asked her artist, who nodded and stepped back.  Without any further delay, Felicity got up and moved to the chair next to his.  Then she leaned in towards him, her floral-citrus scent surrounding him and her hand warm on his forearm.

“Tommy thinks you're amazing,” Felicity said in a low voice, her eyes burning with sincerity.  Oliver couldn't look away from her.

“He's got nothing but your best interests at heart, just like he has mine,” Felicity continued.  “I feel the same way.  You can talk to me or Tommy about anything and we'll listen--and try to help.”

Her eyes dropped for a moment, before they locked back on his.  “I know we don't really know each other, even though I feel like I've known you since I came to Hollywood, but yes, we're friends.  And it's a two-way street.  You can lean on me just like I've been leaning on you.  Okay?”

If Digg's praise had been like a spark of candlelight in utter darkness, Felicity's words were like a fire after a long, cold hike.  Equally important in their own way, and both beacons of guidance and hope.

He nodded slowly and cleared his throat.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” Felicity repeated, a happy smile appearing on her face.  She squeezed his arm.  “That's great, Oliver.  You and Tommy just need to sit down and talk this out, and things will be better.”

“I hope so,” he replied, unable to break eye contact with her.  “Digg was going to see if the schedule could be adjusted a little for me.”

“I can help,” Felicity said quickly.  “I can stay late.”

With how much Felicity was juggling, the thought of her giving up the previous little free time she had in order to stay on set . . . it warmed him even more.  He gazed at her, and she gazed back, until suddenly her cheeks went pink and she moved back in her chair.  

“I should let Twinkie get those damn eyelashes on, so I can get to set and let Digg know I can stay late,” Felicity said, standing up quickly.

Oliver smiled a little.  “Okay.”

She pointed a finger at him.  “If you're laughing about how false eyelashes terrify me . . .”

“No, no, not at all,” he said, adopting a mock serious expression.

Her lips twisted and she turned her head to the side, her disbelief incredibly obvious, and Oliver couldn't help laughing.

“Oliver,” she groaned in annoyance.

“No, that was laughing at the face you just made, not at your fear of little pieces of black fur getting glued to your eyelids,” he told her, laughing again when she rolled her eyes and sat down in her chair.

“I think Oliver would look good with falsies,” Twinkie said with a laugh.  “What do you think, Mel?”

The other artist let out a musical chuckle.  “He'd be an even bigger heartbreaker.  So be careful, _mi amorcito_ , or I will avenge my fellow woman.”

“So there!” Felicity crowed, making them all laugh.

Especially Oliver.  Because if there was anyone in this trailer who was the heartbreaker, it was Felicity.

End, Chapter 7

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, in case anyone was wondering, here's the cast list for _The Gravity of Love_ :
> 
> Claire: Felicity Smoak  
> Kevin: Oliver Queen  
> Walker: Roy Harper  
> Greg: Barry Allen  
> Megan: Sara Lance  
> Elizabeth (Astronaut Alternate): Iris West  
> McCoy (Flight Director): Walter Steele


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter in the whole fic--at least, out of what I’ve posted so far. :-) Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with this story; I’m really glad that the muse has been cooperating so I can write and post chapters on a timely basis. I’m hoping that will continue as we are definitely closer to the end than to the beginning.
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for reminding me that gravity does not exist in space. If you’re curious about Felicity’s sundress, take a look on this fic’s [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/) to see what she’s wearing!

 

“Three more, Felicity.”

“I--hate--this,” Felicity gritted out, using all her strength to get through the last three burpees.  It was just as much her hatred as her strength that let her complete the bodyweight exercise from hell.

Nyssa, Sara's girlfriend and a part-time personal trainer, let out a soft laugh.  “I know, but they are one of the best exercises for improving your core.  And did you not just say you were unable to open a jar of honey yesterday?”

“It got stuck closed!” Felicity said between pants of air.  Nyssa let out another one of those soft, musical laughs and handed Felicity a bottle of water.

She eagerly guzzled some water, then flopped back on the yoga mat in the middle of her living room.  Gazing up at the ceiling, she slowly caught her breath.

Having a personal training session on a Sunday morning wasn't her idea of fun.  No, that was brunch with bottomless mimosas and a lot of coffee.  But since next week she would be doing a sex scene, she had sucked it up and called Nyssa for a session.  Even if one session wasn’t enough to make an actual difference, the thought counted, right?

At least it was done for today.  And Nyssa had promised that she could have toast with her breakfast as a treat.  Because that was how it was for actresses: bread was a reward.

“How are you, Felicity?  I noticed from your call to Sara the other evening that you seemed . . . distressed.”  Nyssa's soft accent and slightly-formal phrasing couldn't hide the warmth and concern in her voice.

She had finally started to recover from the workout, but Nyssa's question made Felicity feel breathless again.  Because . . . because it meant thinking about the scene they had filmed on Friday: Kevin and Claire’s first kiss.  It meant thinking about kissing Oliver.  And she just couldn't do that.

“Just a lot on my mind with the Oscars and everything,” Felicity said, feeling a tiny bit guilty for not sharing with Nyssa. As nice as she was, Nyssa was still mostly a stranger to her.  It took time for Felicity to open up with new people, particularly after having had a few bad experiences.  While she hoped to spend more time with Nyssa, under circumstances that didn't make her feel like she was having a heart attack, for now she wanted to keep things casual between them.

With that regal elegance that both impressed and chilled Felicity, Nyssa nodded.  “Of course.  Do you think you will have time for another session this week?  I am between jobs at the moment, so I am free.”

“Maybe Wednesday?” Felicity asked, after mentally going through her schedule.  “It'll have to be before work, around five, though.”

“I generally rise at four, so that is no problem for me,” Nyssa said.  “Come, time to stretch, and then you might hit the showers.”

Giggling softly at something so American coming from Nyssa's mouth, Felicity stood up and went through fifteen minutes of stretching as Nyssa directed.  Then, her muscles feeling like worn-out rubber bands, Felicity hobbled to the showers.

The hot water and needle-like pressure was just what she needed--as was the hot coffee Nyssa handed her when Felicity left her bathroom and stepped into her bedroom.

“I am having brunch with Sara, then we are going for a hike in the Hollywood Hills,” Nyssa said, her voice softening as she talked about Sara.  “What are your plans?”

“Breakfast with Lyla Michaels,” Felicity said, going to her closet to find a dress.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” Nyssa said.  “I shall see you on Wednesday.”

Felicity smiled at Nyssa.  “Thank you!  Enjoy your hike!”

Nyssa, who wasn't a hugger or air-kisser, returned Felicity's smile with one of her own and saw herself out.  Felicity glanced at the clock and saw she had only forty-five minutes before she was meeting Lyla, so she quickly grabbed her favorite sundress.  A flowy dress with white and red embroidery, it had been one of the first things she had bought when she moved to LA, when she was trying on a hippie boho aesthetic.  That phase hadn’t lasted long, but she still loved this dress.  After pairing it with some sandals and her red tote bag, Felicity slid on her glasses and left her hair loose and wavy.  

Suitably attired for breakfast--because if there were no mimosas or Bloody Marys, it wasn't brunch--Felicity hurried to her car.  Owing to the fluke nature of Los Angeles traffic, Felicity was even early to her meeting with her boss.

While she waited, she sipped from a cup of coffee and went over the sex scene again, a red felt-tip pen in her hand for any notes she wanted to make.  But contrary to every other page in her script, the pages with this scene were free of her scribblings.

Because it was there in black and white, what she and Oliver would be doing.  Claire and Kevin, she corrected herself.  It wasn't like she would actually be having sex with Oliver.  Just acting like they were.  While actually kissing.

God, it was so pathetic how a screen kiss with Oliver had been better than every other kiss in her life.  Screen kisses were  _ never _ sexy.  They were just so technical, with needing to turn your face one way to catch your light, with making sure your noses didn't bump into each other, with actors who thought it would be funny to keep slipping you tongue . . .

Not that she had to worry about Oliver slipping her his tongue.  No, he had been completely professional.  Had smiled, popped a breath mint, kept his hands where they belonged.  But the moment he had leaned in towards her, she had felt a surge of butterflies.  And when his lips met hers . . . 

For a split-second, she had forgotten it was fake.  Forgotten Digg watching them, forgotten the camera operator and grips and boom operator who were standing around the set.  For a split-second, it had felt real.  

And then Digg had called cut and everything had been reset and they had done it again.  

It had only required three takes to get the shots that Digg wanted.  Three kisses with Oliver was all she got.  Of course, there was still the sex scene to film, where there would be more kissing.  A lot more.  She would get to touch him, would have to act out the throes of passion.  She would have to portray a woman who let herself follow her heart instead of her head for the first time in her life, throwing away every reason to not sleep with a man, in favor of the only one that mattered: because she was falling for him.

That is, because Claire was falling for Kevin.

With a groan, Felicity shut her script and turned it over for good measure.  She slapped her pen down on the table and picked up her coffee, sipping frustratedly.

“If my grandmother could see you, she'd ask why a pretty girl would want to risk her face freezing like that,” Lyla said as she stepped up to the table.  The amusement was plain to hear in her voice, and Felicity couldn't help smiling.

“If your grandmother knew what I was thinking, she would understand,” Felicity said, standing up to hug Lyla.  “Hi.  I was just about to call you.”

“I was late getting out the door and then I hit traffic,” Lyla explained as she took her seat across from Felicity.  “Sorry about that.”

Felicity waved a hand in the air.  “It's LA.  I'm so glad we could do this, Lyla.  I know you've been busy with your next script, but the set’s not the same without you.”

Lyla smiled.  “Not many actors feel that way about the writer.”  Turning to the waiter, Lyla ordered coffee and an omelet before leaning back in her chair.  “It's nice to hear, though.”

“It's the truth.  You and John are such a team.  You make each other stronger, just by being around each other.”

There was a wistfulness in her voice that surprised Felicity.  She lifted her coffee cup, partially to hide her face from Lyla's suddenly-sharp gaze and also to keep herself from saying anything more.

“I like to think so,” Lyla said.  “Marriage is all about teamwork.  Sure, there are times I want to yell at Johnny until my face turns blue.  And even a few times that I have.”

The rueful expression on Lyla's face made Felicity laugh.

With a smile, Lyla continued.  “But once I get the yelling out of my system, we talk, and that makes things better.”

Nodding and listening, Felicity reflected on Lyla's words as the other woman accepted her coffee from the waiter.  Teamwork and communication: whether describing co-stars or husband and wife, it all seemed to come down to those two things.

“What are you working on?” Lyla asked, nodding towards the face-down script in front of her.

“Scene 74,” Felicity replied, feeling her cheeks flush a little.  Then she blurted out, “I'm really nervous about it.”

Lyla's eyebrows went up.  “Why?”

“What isn't there to worry about?” Felicity asked.  “It's the linchpin of the whole movie.  If you don't buy Claire and Kevin in that scene, the romance just falls apart.  Plus, the technical challenges of two people having sex in space--it means this scene is going to take a long time to shoot.  And I've never shot such an explicit love scene.  Even in  _ High Tide _ , there were sheets.  And it was more moaning and rolling around--I never got that close to Eddie.  I'm just . . . scared.  Scared that it's going to take forever and no one will buy that someone who looks like Oliver Queen would want to sleep with me.”

The longer she spoke, the faster her words came, until Felicity wasn't even sure Lyla could understand her.  She finally stopped when she had to catch her breath, unable to look at Lyla while she recovered.

Until Lyla spoke and knocked Felicity on her ass.

“Someone who looks like Kevin, you mean.”

“Huh?” Felicity asked, her brow wrinkling as she looked at Lyla.

Over the rim of her coffee cup, Lyla gave her a Mona Lisa smile.  “You said 'someone who looks like Oliver Queen’.  But it's about Kevin and Claire.”

Felicity wanted to crawl under the table, then stay on her hands and knees as she fled Hollywood.  What a Freudian slip to make, and in front of the writer of the movie!

“I'm sorry,” Lyla said, setting down her coffee cup, most of the amusement leaving her eyes.  “I couldn't pass up that opening.  But Felicity, trust me.  You and Oliver have chemistry.  No one's going to think it's strange that your characters want to sleep together.  In fact, you're doing more than what's in the script to make it work.”

She smiled a little, but Felicity still felt uncertain.  Because . . . well, okay, she knew she had chemistry with Oliver.  Oh, was there chemistry.  At least on her end.  But that just made her worries multiply, when she knew Lyla was trying to reassure her.  She wanted to nail this scene--and  _ wow _ , was she glad she hasn't said  _ that _ out loud.

The point remained.  Felicity was determined to give her all in this scene, just like she had done in the whole movie to this point.  But she didn't know how to do that, and she explained as much to Lyla.

Lyla gave Felicity a funny look.  “Why don't you talk to Oliver about it?  Figure out how you two want to approach the scene and all that?”

“Oh.”

She was sure her face was bright red from embarrassment.  Partly from not thinking of something so obvious, but mostly at the thought of sitting in her trailer with Oliver, on that plaid couch, and discussing how they would act out having sex.

Everything in her recoiled from the idea. It just made her think about ideas she shouldn't be having.  Ideas that started with kissing Oliver and ended with waking up in his bed, early morning sunlight pouring over them as Oliver looked at her with that soft smile, the one that made her feel like the center of his universe.

The soft smile that always made her want to kiss him.

_ No, Felicity.  Don't go there.  He doesn't feel like that towards you.  The way he looks at you isn't that different from how he looks at Thea.  You are just friends.  Your life is too crazy right now for anything else.   _

“That's--that's a great idea,” Felicity said quickly.  “I can't believe I didn't think of it myself.  But that's the problem with us geniuses--the easy solutions are usually the ones we never think of.  Like this time I was working on this coding project at MIT--”

Keeping up a steady stream of chatter until their meals arrived was supposed to keep Felicity from returning to that image of Oliver.  And hopefully it distracted Lyla from thinking any harder about why Felicity was so embarrassed.  

But with how observant Lyla was, Felicity doubted that.  Just like she wasn't able to keep her fantasy totally at bay.  Especially when she started dreaming about breakfast in bed, Oliver feeding her a buttery, flaky, warm croissant, following every bite with a kiss.

And worse of all, she lost her appetite so much that she didn't even want her toast.

XXX

MONTAGE. Daily life in the spacecraft and the MEM.  WALKER and GREG work on their laptops, GREG throwing empty food wrappers and juice packets towards WALKER who brushes them aside in annoyance.  KEVIN and CLAIRE eat breakfast together, exchanging glances.  GREG checks WALKER’s vitals while WALKER looks bored.  CLAIRE runs on the treadmill, clearly very conscious of KEVIN doing resistance training to her right.  WALKER sleeps, snoring softly, while GREG stares at the ceiling over his bunk, looking nervous.  CLAIRE sits in the mess, holding a squeeze pouch filled with a dark liquid, her eyes haunted.

KEVIN  
(O.S.)

It's late.

CLAIRE startles slightly.

CLAIRE

I know.  Couldn't sleep.  Which means coffee was a not-so-great idea.  What do you think, when we have to go back because of me, do you think NASA will care that my sleep cycle was all messed up?

KEVIN  
(floats into the chair next to hers)

Hey, none of this is your fault.

CLAIRE

It is, Kevin.  I must have missed something in a briefing, not paid enough attention to the daily reports--

KEVIN

It was space debris.  Nothing we could have anticipated.  These things just happen, Claire.

CLAIRE shakes her head, obviously distraught.  KEVIN places his hand on her shoulder, leaning in towards her.

CLAIRE

I'm the one in charge.  I still don't know why they picked me, but that means whatever happens, it's on me.  We could have been killed.

KEVIN

I know.  We all knew that, Claire, when we signed up for this.  That doesn't mean it would be your fault.  And there's still time.

CLAIRE

Time.  Only five days left.  We’re halfway to the moon and NASA is probably too busy wondering how they had messed up so badly with the personnel to find a fix for the damn airlock being closed. 

KEVIN  
(patiently)

I know there's only five more days.  But NASA picked the right person to be the mission commander.  If it wasn't for you, we'd have gone crazy by now.

(pauses)

I know I would have.

CLAIRE stares at him, looking shocked by his admission, but then shakes her head.

CLAIRE

I wish Megan was here.  Another woman to talk to . . . 

KEVIN looks confused.  CLAIRE visibly gathers her courage.

CLAIRE

Kevin, it's my fault because I did exactly what people expect a woman to do: I let myself get distracted by a man.   Distracted by  _ you _ , and--

KEVIN kisses her.  They kiss frantically, well-aware of the limited chances for such intimacy, and pull back only for breath.

KEVIN  
(breathlessly)

You're not the only one who's been distracted.  So I guess it's my fault, too.

XXX

Shifting his feet on Tommy's doorstep, Oliver clutched the six-pack of beer in his hand.  Red Stripe wasn't exactly a great beer, but for Oliver, it always brought back memories of the trip to Jamaica he had taken with Tommy.  It was during that trip, when they were both spoiled eighteen-year-olds with more money than sense, that Oliver had told Tommy he wanted to be an actor, at the end of a long night drinking Red Stripe together.

Oliver hoped that Tommy would remember that night.  Although Oliver himself had to admit, a lot of that night was pretty hazy.

But he wouldn't know if Tommy remembered, or if he was willing to forgive him, or if they could talk while drinking a few cold ones, until he actually rang the doorbell.

With a deep breath, Oliver pressed the doorbell.  It had barely stopped chiming when Tommy yanked open the door, a grin on his face.  

“Finally.  You've been out here for nearly five minutes.”

“What?” Oliver asked out of confusion.

Tommy stepped back.  “I heard you drive up.  Come in, come in.  I'm glad you're here.”  The grin had faded slightly on his friend's face, the levity receding.  Which meant Tommy was taking this seriously, instead of acting like everything was normal and making jokes.  That was a good sign, Oliver thought.

Following his friend and agent into the living room, Oliver held out the six-pack.  “I know it's not great, beer-wise, but I was in the store and I saw these and it made me think of--”

“Jamaica.  That trip when you told me you wanted to act, and I figured out the best way to get back at my dad was to beat him at his own game,” Tommy said quietly, taking the beers and putting them on the coffee table.

Oliver nodded.  That was true.  Tommy had realized that being an agent and constantly holding his father over a barrel, on behalf of Tommy's clients, would let him work out his issues with Malcolm.  

So they had joined forces.  A kid who knew nothing about acting and his best friend, who didn't know much about being an agent.  And here they were today: an action star on the brink of something more and one of Hollywood's most successful agents under thirty-five.

They had done pretty well for themselves together.  Oliver didn't want that end.

“I'm sorry, Tommy,” Oliver said, looking right at him.  “The other night . . . I was angry and upset and feeling sorry for myself, and I took it out on you.”

Tommy took a deep breath.  “You don't have to apologize.  I was trying to work too many angles and it all blew up in my face.  I . . . It felt like something my dad would do.  And as soon as I realized that, I knew this was all my fault.”

“It's not your fault, Tommy,” Oliver countered, shaking his head.  “You only did what an agent is supposed to do: look out for a client.  If I felt hurt that Felicity was out with someone else--well, that's my issue.  You can't give Felicity bad advice because you're thinking about my feelings.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Tommy nodded.  “Okay.  But I'm still going to be more careful.  And believe me, today we are gonna drink those beers and more, and we're gonna make a plan of attack for you and Felicity.  Tommy Merlyn, agent, has left the building.”

And with that, Tommy lifted up the six-pack and headed out onto the patio.  Oliver let him go because he was too busy laughing.

“You make it sound like you're two people,” Oliver said when he stepped outside, joining Tommy under a vine-covered pergola.  The late-morning sunshine of another beautiful day in Los Angeles made this feel a little bit like Jamaica--especially when Tommy opened two of the beers and handed him one.

“With you, I kind of have to be.  The lines have been too blurry lately.  Might be good for a while to keep those two relationships separate,” Tommy explained, taking a slow sip from his beer.

Oliver lifted his bottle to his lips, contemplating that.  Then he nodded.  “Yeah.  It might be good for both of us.”

The breeze stirred the vines as they sat in the partial shade, drinking and thinking.  It was peaceful and quiet, and Oliver felt himself relax for the first time in days.

Letting his mind wander, he found himself thinking of Felicity.  What was she doing today?  On a day off, was she the type to spring out of bed and be productive?  Or did she like to lounge in bed, snuggling under the covers?

His breath caught as his mind pictured it:  Felicity, in a sunny bedroom, stretched out on a king-sized bed, the white sheets only covering the strategic parts of her.  Her hair was mussed and her eyes were sleepy, but her smile was warm and intimate and just for him as she said, “Come back to bed, Oliver . . .”

“Earth to Oliver.”

“Huh, what?” he said, looking at Tommy.

He chuckled.  “Thinking about Felicity?”

With a small grimace, Oliver shook his head.  “Am I that obvious?” he asked, lifting his beer and finishing it off.

“Nah,” Tommy said, popping the caps off two more beers and handing one to him.  “Or at least only to people like me and Thea.”

Oliver took the beer and leaned back in his chair.  “I just . . . I like her.  But I don't want to get in her way.  And y'know, I'm not exactly the kind of guy someone like Felicity would really be that interested in.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked, frowning a little.

“I mean . . .” Oliver began before pausing.  Then he shook his head and took a swig from his beer.  “I'm a guy who became famous for his abs and for punching Russian mobsters and Chinese terrorists.  Not a lot of acting goes on in my movies, Tommy.”

Tommy set down his beer, the bottle making a dull plonk against the wooden table.  “That's bullshit.”

He opened his mouth to disagree but Tommy didn't give him the chance to speak.  “Yeah, your past movies might not have been high art, but you were usually the best thing in them.  Why do you think they made money if it wasn't because of you?  Shit, Oliver, I wanted to get you into better pictures, let you stretch your wings.  But you were never interested so I stopped asking.  Even when I had legit directors and producers asking me what had you so scared of doing more.  Of being more.”

It was all Oliver could do not to stare at Tommy with his mouth open.  Because . . . there was no way that was true.

“When?” he finally managed to ask.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment.  “About five years ago.  After  _ Big Trouble in Little Hoboken _ .  People liked what you did in that picture and thought you could do more.  But when I brought it up, you told me you weren't interested.  That you were looking to have fun without having to work too hard.  Remember?”

Nodding slowly, Oliver tried to keep his embarrassment at bay.  Because he did remember that conversation: it was when he was frequently drinking, flush with his success and living like he had as a kid--but this time, on his own money, not his family's.  Since his family had all but cut him off when he started acting.  He had invited his parents to every one of his movie premieres and had asked repeatedly if Thea could come and visit him.  But they always turned him down.  And after  _ Big Trouble in Little Hoboken _ , there had been a major fight between himself and his father.  The last fight he would have with him, in fact.

For the six months after that fight, Oliver was only interested in partying and having fun.  And then his father had died in that boating accident and things had started to change for Oliver.  If only he hadn't been such an asshole before that had happened, he might have an entirely different life.

“Wow,” Oliver said, leaning back in his chair.  “I had no idea.  I’m sorry if I made things tough for you.”  

Waving a hand in the air, Tommy brushed aside his apology.  “You didn’t.  And besides, you weren’t ready then.  You are now.  You’re doing great work on  _ The Gravity of Love _ \--Digg and Lyla tell me that whenever I talk to them.”

“Yeah?” Oliver said, feeling a strange sense of confidence.  Lately, when anyone said he was a good actor, he hadn’t been in a rush to deny the compliment.  Instead, he was just trying to accept it and savor it.  Trying to get used to the idea of being seen as a good actor--as an actor, period.    

“Yeah,” Tommy confirmed.  “So if you’re holding back from going after Felicity because you think you’re not a good enough actor--or good enough, period--”

Oliver let out a sigh.  “It’s not that.  I just . . . it doesn’t feel like the right time.  Not when she’s got the Oscars, and we’re both working so hard . . .”  

“You’re still thinking of asking her out when you wrap the film, right?”

At Oliver’s nod, Tommy gave him a long look.  “And . . . and you’re sure what you’re feeling for her--it’s not a case of Method acting or anything, right?  I’m sorry to ask, Oliver, but I don’t want you to get hurt.  Especially considering what’s coming up on the shooting schedule this week.”  

Rolling his neck, Oliver tried not to flush.  Because he had been trying to not think about scene 74.  Trying not to think about acting out love making with Felicity, especially given how he had reacted when they had shot the first kiss between Kevin and Claire.  

He had kissed several of Hollywood’s most attractive actresses.  Megan Fox, Jordana Brewster, Emily Blunt, Jessica Biel, to name just a few of his co-stars.  Filming intimate scenes had never posed any great challenge for him before, not when there was all the technical aspects to remember.  It wasn’t real, which was easy to remember with twenty sweaty guys standing around and watching while you kissed.

Yet in the same situation with Felicity . . . it wasn’t like that at all.  The moment their lips had connected, Oliver had closed his eyes and almost forgotten everything he was supposed to be doing.  He had been instructed to keep his head slightly tilted to the left, to keep his hands out of the shot, to convey a certain desperate passion that spoke to the situation Kevin and Claire were in.  

Instead--he nearly blew the take.  Because he wanted to turn his head to the right.  He wanted to cup Felicity’s face in his hands.  He wanted this kiss to be slow and sweet, intimate and searching.

At the last second, he had remembered that this was just a movie kiss.  That Felicity was only kissing him because it was what the script called for between their characters.  So he had kept his head tilted to the left, kept his hands at Felicity’s waist.  But he could feel the desire that Kevin was supposed to feel, the sense that this might be his only chance.  

When Digg called cut, Oliver had pulled away and took a deep breath before he opened his eyes.  Seeing Felicity, her cheeks flushed and her eyes unfocused behind her glasses, had been unlike anything he had ever experienced.  

It wasn’t supposed to be real, but it  _ was  _ real.  Believing anything else was just fooling himself.  

Gazing down at the bottle of beer in his hand, Oliver spoke softly.  “It’s real, Tommy.  For me at least.  I’m falling for her, and I know it’s not for her character.  It’s for her.  For Felicity.”

There was the sound of Tommy taking a long draw on his beer.  “Well . . . shit.”  

That made Oliver laugh.  Looking at Tommy, he nodded.  “Exactly.  Shit.”

Tommy gave him a sympathetic smile, then lifted his bottle in the air.  “To my best friend, for finding something real in this fake town.  And to surviving until the end of the shoot, when you can finally ask Felicity out.”  

Leaning over, Oliver clinked his bottle against Tommy’s in a toast.  “To finding something real.”

End, Chapter 8  

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s the chapter I’ve been writing towards since the start of this fic, believe it or not.  The chapter that has the Olicity version of [my inspiration scene](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/post/137760971412/this-story-from-mindy-kaling-needs-to-be-recreated).  I hope you enjoy my take on the story told by Mindy Kaling in her book _Why Not Me?_  
> 
> I’m happy to announce that since I’ve got the next two chapters completed, I’m going to pick up my posting frequency!  Now there will be new chapters every Sunday, probably right up to the end of the fic.  Thank you to everyone for sticking with this fic during those times it was less frequently updated.

 

As she approached the “set”, breathing slowly and deeply, Felicity worked to confront her nerves.  Trying to ignore them or making jokes wouldn’t work.  Because she had to be professional and do her job.  

The scene itself was fairly simple, emotionally speaking.  Once they had kissed, Claire and Kevin found that it was too hard to resist being close to each other, leaning on each other amid the tension and uncertainty.  The scenes with them holding hands, stealing kisses, and having long conversations--those had been relatively easy to shoot.  After so many weeks of filming, she felt like she understood Claire completely--including how she was taking such a big risk by becoming intimate with Kevin, despite all the barriers to their relationship.    

It all hit rather close to home for Felicity, honestly, in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.  So she wasn’t prepared for the sex scene, probably.  Because she just hadn’t been able to talk to Oliver about it.  And when Digg had drawn them aside at the beginning of the week and asked if they were ready, Felicity had taken one look at Oliver and then quickly nodded to her director.  “Yep, I’m good to go.”  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver shift his feet and then agree that he was ready, too.  Digg had looked back and forth between them, clearly skeptical, but he had accepted them at their words and told them they would be clearing the set for filming scene 74 on Thursday--if a plane that was capable of achieving zero gravity could be called a set.  

And now it was Thursday, and she was walking across the tarmac in the close-fitting red pajamas that wardrobe had provided for this scene.  The pajamas she would be removing over the course of filming today.  

_ Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.  Just like you’re in yoga class--imagine how much easier yoga would be in space with no gravity--or would you even be able to do yoga in space?  _

God, why hadn’t she just  _ talked  _ to Oliver?  Why was she so scared?  It wasn’t like if she had discussed the logistics with Oliver that he would think she was doing anything more than preparing for the scene.  He wouldn’t think it meant she had feelings for him.  

Because she did.  Have feelings for Oliver.  Big, scary, never-felt-before feelings.  Like she could be completely herself with him, flaws and all.  Like she wanted to see him smile all the time.  Like she desperately wanted to kiss him and keep kissing him until it was oxygen, and not Digg yelling ‘Cut!’, making them stop.  

But everything was so crazy right now.  She had always been scared of getting sucked into her character’s headspace--like she had on her first movie.  Playing the biggest loose cannon in a trio of female bank robbers, Felicity had found herself acting like her character when the cameras weren’t rolling.  She had gone to places in that part, places that had scared her enough to make her pull back hard.  Led her to taking the first of four ‘best friend of the lead’ parts in various rom-coms.  But she knew she had to keep challenging herself--she hadn’t come to Hollywood to be a second banana.  So she had taken a few indie projects, the biggest of which was  _ High Tide _ .  And that had led to here and now.

So this strange welling of emotions when she thought of Oliver could just be getting lost in her character.  Added to the insanity of awards season, Felicity felt like she didn’t have the time to really examine her feelings.  Yet now she was staring down a scene she was so scared to shoot, a scene she was utterly unprepared for, and all she could think was she wished it was yesterday, before it was too late to talk to Oliver.  

Closing her eyes, Felicity clasped her hands together.  She could do this.  She understood Claire’s feelings for Kevin.  She could show that on-screen.  And if a little of her own emotions leaked through . . . well, she would deal with that later.  After they were done filming.  Today was going to be a long day, since they only had thirty seconds of weightlessness at a time.  She just wanted to do the scene and then go home--she would blow off the party she was supposed to go to and instead, she would do something she had been avoiding.

Deciding if Claire was falling for Kevin . . . or if it was Felicity falling for Oliver.  

Slowly, using techniques she had picked up over the years, she visualised pushing her doubts and insecurities behind a door in a high, thick wall.  She locked the door and hung a sign on it, a sign that said “To be opened after filming.”  

And when she opened her eyes, she was calm.  Well, calmer.  Especially since the first person she saw was Oliver, walking towards her and wearing the same kind of pajamas she was, only in green.  Pajamas that did more to reveal his amazing body than conceal it.

“Hey,” he said, coming to a stop before her.  He gave her a small, slightly hesitant smile.  “How are you doing?”  

Why was small talk full of such loaded questions?  Felicity did her best to return his smile.  “Okay.  I mean, a bit nervous, but . . . okay.”  

He nodded.  “Yeah, me too.  It’s an--it’s an important scene.”  

“I thought so when I first read the script,” Felicity agreed.  “It kinda makes the movie.”  

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, gazing at her.  He took another step towards her.  “Are you really ready?” he asked, his voice low.  “You know, we’ve still got some time, if there’s anything we need to discuss--”

“I’m ready,” Felicity cut him off.  Was he implying that she was having problems with the scene?  Did he think she couldn’t do this?  Just because she had less experience than he did?  Just because she wasn’t like him and had spent ten years making out with some of Hollywood’s hottest actresses?  

Not that she would have made out with many actresses, on film or otherwise--it wasn’t that she was opposed to lesbian roles, they were just few and far between and--

No, no, no.  She was getting defensive and letting her thoughts run away from her.  She swallowed and looked at Oliver.  “I--when I get nervous, I tend to babble.  And make Freudian slips.  Which makes me embarrassed, and I get more nervous, so it’s all one big, very bad cycle.  So I think I should apologize in advance if anything I say makes you uncomfortable.”   

There was a beat, and then a bright smile appeared on Oliver’s face.  One that made her smile and relax and suddenly feel not so nervous.  “Apology accepted, although I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Oliver said.

“Oh, just wait,” Felicity said.  

He ducked his head and chuckled.  “If it helps, before every a kissing scene, Emily Blunt upped her British accent and then recited rap lyrics.  Really filthy ones.”  

“I’ll have to try that sometime,” she told him between giggles at the mental image, looking around to see Digg approaching them.

“That’s what I like to see before filming a love scene: my actors laughing together,” Digg said warmly.  “We’re ready for you.”

Felicity nodded.  “Okay.”  She looked at Oliver and gestured towards the plane.  “After you.”  

With another one of those chuckles that she really liked, Oliver started walking to his mark.  “Very Commander Johannsen of you, having me go first,” he called over his shoulder.  

“That’s right, let anyone but the commander go first into the danger,” she agreed, finding her mark and getting ready.  Which meant wiping the smile off her face and using her relaxed confidence in order to portray Claire’s anxious nerves.

“And . . . action!” Digg called, and they began.  

For the first few hours, it wasn’t so bad.  They got the first part of the scene shot, with Kevin and Claire talking and kissing.  By this point, Felicity had learned to cope with the impact of kissing Oliver, how the physical made her emotions flare up into a fire.  She couldn’t push it aside and forget about it, but at least she had figured out how to let those feelings come out in her performance.

They were managing, giving each other sheepish smiles when they had to pause and wait for weightlessness to return, even talking a little. Oliver mentioned he had resolved his argument with Tommy, Felicity talked about having breakfast with Lyla and learning more about her new project.  It was . . . nice.  It felt like they were shooting any other scene.

But then they had to break for lunch and for the plane to refuel, and that gave Felicity time to think.  To look ahead to what was still to come, to remember how it felt to have Oliver touching her, and to know that they would be moving together, feigning love making . . . 

Her nerves came back, squared.  Returning to set, it was all she could do to stay focused.  Digg wanted to make sure he had plenty of footage to use in the editing room, so they had to perform each thirty-second segment multiple times, in order to guarantee Digg would have enough.  In fact, he stopped saying action and cut--Oliver and Felicity used the feeling of weightlessness to tell them to begin doing whatever Digg had told them to do while they were waiting.

And that made it feel too real.  Like it was just her and Oliver, not Claire and Kevin.  Like it was her, Felicity, wrapping her legs around Oliver’s waist, Oliver’s hands sliding under her pajama top and pulling it over her head.  

She had to look into his eyes while they were shooting, had to look at him with love and passion, and Felicity wasn’t sure if it wasn’t real.  If she was showing her own emotions, which felt so much truer and deeper than what Claire would be feeling in this moment.  

It felt so  _ real _ .

Especially when she was looking into Oliver’s eyes and seeing such tenderness and caring, everything she thought she had seen him express towards her but turned up to eleven--and with a healthy dose of lust--it was all Felicity could do not to say his name.  To say Oliver, not Kevin.  

Somehow, she held it together.  Somehow, she kept her babbling from getting too embarrassing.  But it was difficult with her being wrapped around Oliver like a kudzu vine--so when the plane finished its arc and gravity began to return, she kept lowering her legs so she could step away.  Get a little distance.

After the fifth time, when she hadn’t been able to get into place in time if it wasn’t for Oliver’s hand going underneath her ass and hiking her up--and she definitely had  _ not  _ memorized what that felt like--Oliver told her, “Just stay there.”  

“I’m too heavy,” she said, trying not to squirm and keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the middle of his forehead.

“No, you’re not,” he told her, his voice soft and a little thready.  “You’re--you’re just right.”  

“That . . .” Felicity breathed out, her eyes accidentally meeting his.  But she couldn’t handle what she saw there, so she looked away.  “That’s a very nice compliment.  Thea would be proud of you.”  

Why was she talking about his sister at a time like this?

They kept going, working to get the scene just right.  It seemed like they were getting all the technical details right, but Digg didn’t seem happy with the emotions in the scene.  Finally, he drew Felicity aside.  “I need you to give a bit more, Felicity.  Show how much passion Claire feels for Kevin--how she’s so crazy for him, they’re making love in the middle of the mission.  Really commit--I know you are,” he said, correcting himself and laying his hand on her shoulder.  “I know it’s been tough today, but I just need a few more minutes of film and then we can wrap for the day.”

Digg was right: it had been tough today.  The muscles in her arms and legs ached from gripping onto Oliver.  Her face felt like sandpaper thanks to Oliver’s stubble.  And worst of all, her heart felt completely wrung out whenever she looked at Oliver.  Like it would take just the barest flicker of anything soft and real from him for her to fall and shatter.

But it wouldn’t be what Oliver really felt.  It would be Kevin.  

Taking a breath, she gave him a wan smile.  “Okay, Digg.”  

He smiled warmly at her.  “Go get ‘em.”  

Nodding, Felicity walked back over to Oliver.  “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low as they moved in sync to get her back into position: her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, his arms helping to support her.  

“Yeah--Digg just . . .”  Felicity trailed off and, for the first time in hours, really looked at Oliver.  Saw the strain in his face, how carefully he held her, so that she had no fear that he would drop her.  Saw the swirling emotions in his eyes, emotions that she didn’t fully understand.  But she wanted to understand them.  She wanted to understand  _ him _ .

She had kept a wall up between them, lowering it a little from time to time, but never fully letting it drop.  But right now, she was too tired to keep it up.  With everything else that was going on, the thought of exerting energy to keep him at arm’s length felt like a waste.

And maybe . . . maybe she would only understand him if she let him all the way in.  

“I--I just--I’ve never done a scene like this before, and . . . and I don’t know if anyone’s going to believe that Kevin would care about Claire,” Felicity admitted, biting her lip.  “I don’t know if I’m doing this right--if I’m doing enough--to make it believable.”  

XXX

KEVIN is moving through the living quarters of the spacecraft, clearly nervous.  He looks up as CLAIRE floats in.

KEVIN  
(softly)

We’re okay?

CLAIRE  
(fidgets a little then nods)

Yes.  All the A/V equipment is off for the night.  I double-checked.  No one should know what’s going to happen in the next hour.  Well, except us. 

KEVIN

We’re the only people who should know about what’s going to happen, Claire.  

He tenderly runs a hand over her ponytail as it floats in the air, then slides his hand along her face to draw her in for a kiss.  CLAIRE wraps her arms around him, kissing him back.  They float, kissing still, until KEVIN stops with a groan.

KEVIN

I need you, Claire--I want all of you.

CLAIRE looks at him, a world of emotion in her eyes, then she nods.

CLAIRE

I want all of you, too.  

They move towards one of the berths, bumping into objects.  They move into the cramped cabin, KEVIN immediately getting into the sleeping bag and putting his arms through the armholes, but leaving it unzipped.

CLAIRE watches as he fastens the bag to the wall.

CLAIRE

You’ve figured this out . . . 

KEVIN

I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.

KEVIN reaches out for her, pulling CLAIRE against him.  They kiss as CLAIRE wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.  Their hands roam over their bodies, KEVIN’S hands slipping under her top and easing it up and over her head.  It floats away and KEVIN arches up against CLAIRE, who is sent floating upwards, only catching herself just before her head hits the ceiling.

KEVIN 

Shit!  Are you okay?

CLAIRE

I’m fine, I’m fine--Kevin--

She kisses him, using her hand on the ceiling to keep her close enough to press her lips to his.  KEVIN arches again, this time pushing her back and away from him.  

KEVIN

God, this would be so much easier on Earth.

CLAIRE  
(a bit frantic)

We can make it work.  C’mon.  

CLAIRE wiggles out of her pajama pants, then wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him again.  KEVIN responds, kissing her back and fumbling with his own clothes.  They join, CLAIRE’S eyes going wide as she stares at him.  KEVIN looks amazed as he thrusts.  CLAIRE’S arms fly out, one pressing above her and the other to the side, as KEVIN’S hands go to her hips.  Somehow, using their feelings for each other and all the ingenuity that is sending people to Mars, they rock together, their eyes never leaving one another’s.  Their connection is palpable as they reach their climaxes.  

KEVIN

Claire ! 

XXX

Thursday wasn’t normally a day you dreaded.  You knew you were nearly to the weekend--or, when he was younger, Thursday was usually already the weekend.  It was just there, between Wednesday and Friday. 

But this particular Thursday wasn’t like any other day.  It was the day he and Felicity would be filming Scene 74.  And Oliver was both anticipating and dreading it with everything in his being.

Oliver just didn’t know how he was going to get through this.  How he could kiss and touch Felicity, be so close to her, without giving away how he felt about her?  Because she was smart and funny and warm.  Because she was beautiful and charming and hot.

Because . . . he was in love with her.  

For so long, he had tried to keep himself from admitting that.  Even to himself.  It had felt safer to say that he had feelings for her, that he cared about her.  What he felt was so huge, so all-encompassing, so unknown . . . to actually accept what he felt for Felicity was love had been too scary.  Too dangerous.

Yet then he would think about that Sunday morning conversation with Tommy.  The way Thea kept talking about Felicity.  Even farther back, to those times when his mother had looked at him and said, with a strange catch in her voice, that all she wanted for him was to be happy.

Felicity made him happy.  She made him better and stronger.  She was the final piece to being the man he wanted to be.  He could be happy without her--but he knew it would be a faint, muted kind of  happiness, compared to the light and color of being with Felicity.

Realizing that . . . it seemed stupid to lie to himself.  Oliver might not be ready to tell Felicity how he felt--to tell anyone, really--but at least he was ready for the truth.  He loved Felicity, and as soon as they were done filming, he was going to focus every bit of his time and ability on discovering if maybe she could fall in love with him.  

So he had a built-in reason for wanting everything to go smoothly.  Today’s discomfort would hopefully lead to the start of something wonderful in a week or so, when they were scheduled to wrap.  

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous as hell about today.  His resolve had been tested so many times and today would be the greatest test of all.  But he was determined to do this right.  To make sure Felicity knew this wasn’t about going Method or anything.  He loved her--her, Felicity Smoak, with her love of science and girly clothes, her nerdy interests and messy bag.  He had only scratched the surface with her but he wanted to know everything.

Stepping onto set, he took in the green screen that would be replaced in post-production with the spaceship.  The tiny cubicle that was Kevin’s “bedroom” on ship, where he and Claire would express their feelings for each other.  Oliver had been in that sleeping berth before and it wasn’t exactly roomy for him.  With another person in there, too . . . there would be no hiding from Felicity what he was feeling.  

He couldn’t think about that now.  Not when he spotted Felicity, who looked nervous.  Even more nervous than he felt.  And that made him nervous, because . . . was she just worrying about the scene?  About capturing Digg’s vision?  Or feeling the grind of her crazy schedule?

Or was she perhaps struggling with her own feelings?

They managed to exchange small talk, slowly getting a bit more comfortable.  Felicity seemed to consciously push aside what was bothering her, and the morning work went well.  Maybe too well, Oliver thought whenever he realized anew how revealing Kevin’s pajamas were.  When they broke for lunch, Oliver told Felicity to go ahead.  And once she was gone, her scent no longer surrounding him, the warmth of her body dissipating, he was able to calm his own body.  

The problems came in the afternoon.  They were all tired, everyone feeling the effects of the periods of weightlessness.  His focus narrowed in a way it had done only a few times before, his attention so fixated on getting through this that everything on the periphery--the crew and eventually even Digg--faded away.  Until it was just him and Felicity.  

And that was when the trouble really started.  Because for hours, Felicity had been wrapped around him.  Her top had been off, revealing the smooth skin of her torso, the only break being the backless, strapless bra thing Felicity was wearing over her breasts.  But in spite of it, he could still see the shape of her breasts--how perfectly shaped they were, how they looked like they were the right size to fit in his hands.  And the bra thing didn’t provide much protection when Felicity was pressing against his chest.  

Worse of all, it meant her back was bare as he ran his hands over her.  He had to touch her--it was in the script--and it was the sweetest, most agonizing act he had ever been required to do on a film set.  The first of many that day.

God, her skin felt amazing.  So smooth and warm . . . almost too good to touch.  His hands had little scars and callouses on his fingers, rough spots that made her flinch as he slid his fingers down her spine and up her sides.  Although maybe it wasn’t a flinch, but a shiver?  Oliver didn’t know and he shouldn’t be thinking about it.  He should be focusing on keeping his body under control.  

It was impossible, though.  Eight hours of touching and kissing the woman he had just realized he loved, when she had no idea how he felt?  His body couldn’t help responding.  By an hour after lunch, Oliver wasn’t sure if he had ever been this erect for this long.  There hadn’t been much direct stimulation, even with Felicity’s legs around him . . . but there was the emotional impact of holding her and kissing her.  Feeling the same spark every time their lips touched, discovering how it felt to run his fingers through her hair and grip her hips.  

Oliver felt like he was drowning.  Happily, with no regard for his own safety, he dove into the deep end and committed like he had never done before.

To say he was playing with fire was an understatement.  And Oliver knew it.  But he couldn’t help himself.  He didn’t touch her in any way that wasn’t called for in the script.  Didn’t take advantage of her.  But he just . . . he wanted to know.  Wanted to know what it felt like to give himself over to her, even if it was in the guise of their characters.  He wanted to know what it would be like to be with a woman he totally and completely loved.  

And it was more amazing than Oliver could have imagined.  

It made his determination grow--not unlike his erection, he thought ironically and even a bit hysterically.  Because now that he had some idea of what it would be like between them--now that he knew exactly what he wanted--how could he live without this?  If Felicity decided she didn’t want him, if she wasn’t interested--

No.  This wasn’t the time to think about that.  He wouldn’t let himself think like that--as if the deck was stacked against him.  He didn’t know how Felicity felt, but he was going to find out.  And he was going to woo Felicity Smoak like something out of one of her movies.  With her as the girl who got the guy, not as the best friend who supported the lead.  

But first, they had to finish this scene and finish this movie.  Without him embarrassing himself by Felicity discovering just how hard she made him.

It was tough.  Felicity was struggling, he could tell, so he did his best to support her and help her through everything.  When she kept climbing down, only to have trouble getting back into position when it was time for them to start filming, he told her to stay in place.  Even if it meant he had to exert more effort to keep her around his waist, instead of in the more natural and relaxed place on his hips.  Because if she was there, she would feel him.  

Oliver could tell that Felicity appreciated what he was doing, and he wished he could do more.  But she was stuck in her head--being too analytical, second-guessing herself.  It had happened a few times before, and he had usually managed to help her break free and be present in the emotional moment.  But today . . . he wasn’t up for that.  

_ Up for other things, of course _ , his body taunted him in a voice that sounded like his old Ollie self.  

But Digg was watching them closely and finally drew Felicity aside.  When she came back, he could see the crack in her facade.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she once again jumped up and wrapped her legs around him.

“Yeah--Digg just . . .”  

Felicity went quiet, her eyes locking on his.  He could see some kind of deliberation going on inside her, some kind of question she wasn’t sure how to answer.  It surprised him, because it reminded him of himself.  Felicity normally seemed to make decisions in the blink of an eye; her natural intelligence and confidence let her choose between different options without any delay or doubt.  But today . . . she was really pondering and working through something, in the same way he did.  

Her voice was soft and hesitant, her words coming in fits and starts when she finally spoke.  “I--I just--I’ve never done a scene like this before, and . . . and I don’t know if anyone’s going to believe that Kevin would care about Claire.  I don’t know if I’m doing this right--if I’m doing enough--to make it believable.”

For a long moment, he could only stare at her.  He felt dizzy, because so many different thoughts were occurring to him.  Because it was like she had voiced his own thoughts, only with reversed positions and citing their characters.  Oliver felt like it wasn’t believable that Felicity might want him.  He was fairly certain she might be attracted to him, but to actually care about him--that just seemed unthinkable.  There was nothing in the script to indicate Claire had this kind of insecurity about Kevin--Oliver had always read Claire as being worried about doing her duty and how her feelings for Kevin conflicted with that.  

So . . . did that mean  _ Felicity  _ felt insecure around  _ him _ ?  That she didn’t think it was believable someone like him would fall for someone like her?  

Holy hell.  Felicity cared about him.  Why else would she feel insecure, if she wasn’t worried about how he thought of her--it had to be because she was as interested in and attracted to him as he was about her.  

It was a lot of assumptions and guesses, but . . . Oliver just knew it was true.  Felicity felt something for him.  Maybe it was just friendship and attraction--but more could come from that, right?  Something real?  

And she was still waiting for him to say something, while his stupid brain tried to process all this, and she was starting to look scared and nervous and embarrassed.  And that was the last thing Oliver wanted.  Even if it meant being more vulnerable with her than he had ever been before.  But--but what he wanted to do, he should--he should really ask her first.  

Licking his lips--seeing how her eyes flickered to his mouth for a moment and feeling a rush of feeling, in his heart and in his groin--Oliver spoke slowly.  “You--you really want to know if you’re doing this right?”  

Felicity nodded.  “Yes--this scene has to be perfect.”  

With a gulp of breath, Oliver nodded back.  He glanced around, then took her hand, the one that was on the inside of the cubicle and less exposed.  Making sure to move slowly so she would have time to react and pull away if she wanted, his eyes locked on her face, he brought her hand between their bodies, maneuvering until her fingers, then her palm, were pressed against his erection.  His dick hardened at the contact and Felicity’s eyes went wide.  Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him.

“You’re doing this right and it’s very believable that Kevin wants Claire,” Oliver told her, his voice low and deep and raw.  Putting a bit extra emphasis on the character names, trying to tell her that it was equally believable for him to want her.  

End, Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for all your comments and feedback on the last chapter! It was a real relief to know that I had pulled off that scene. Now it’ll be up to y’all to decide if the aftermath is just as good. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> If you want to see the dress and shoes that Felicity is wearing, check out the [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/) for this fic!

****_ Oh my God. _

_ Oh. My.  _ **_God_ ** _. _

Oliver was turned on.  Oliver thought it was believable that Kevin would want Claire.  And he seemed to be trying to get across some other point, but her brain was kinda short-circuiting with what she was feeling.

Namely, Oliver's penis.  His really hard, really big penis.

And this didn't seem to be just about friction or some kind of natural bodily response.  Not with how he had looked right at her, not with how he had said their characters’ names.

Felicity stared at her co-star, at her friend, and realized he was telling her he was attracted to her.  Attracted to her, Felicity Smoak, who could barely do a sit-up without groaning and who was nerdy and quirky and so different from everyone else in Hollywood . . . 

Oliver thought she was attractive.  And he liked her--they were friends--and he seemed to enjoy spending time with her and he respected her and he supported her and he made her laugh and oh, God--

This couldn't be happening.  This wasn't possible!

And she was still touching his penis, which might have gotten even bigger since Oliver had brought her hand to his crotch.

“Oh,” she whispered, somehow managing to not blurt out everything that was running through her mind.  “Um . . . I see.”

With a small, strained smile, Oliver nodded and let go of her hand.  After a split-second, she pulled her hand away, her fingers tingling.

“Okay, one or two more takes and we'll be done for the day,” Digg called out.

Another minute more.  She could handle a minute of fake lovemaking with Oliver, right?  She could do this.

Felicity wasn't sure how she got through that minute; her mind seemed to go somewhere else, leaving her just a body.  A body that definitely remembered that Oliver was turned on.  A body that was equally turned on.  A body that wanted this to be real.

“Perfect!  That's it for today, everyone.”

She distantly heard Digg's voice praising her and Oliver, but Felicity was still trapped in her head.  Still trying to cope with how her whole world had been called into question.  She couldn’t even remember untangling herself from Oliver.

Slowly, she walked to her trailer.  Originally, she had been invited to a cocktail party, one that she hadn’t planned to attend.  Not with how today was such a long day--and because she had wanted to reflect on her feelings for Oliver.  But now, after what she had learned--no.  She couldn't do that.  Because the way she was feeling, the way her body felt overheated and tense and shivery . . . if she didn't do something tonight that got her out of her head, she would do something she regretted.  She valued her friendship with Oliver--she didn’t want to lose that if they jumped into bed and things didn’t work out between them.  

Even if she was probably overreacting.  He--he had just been trying to reassure her.  After all, men could get erections over nothing, right?  Today, what happened to Oliver--it wasn’t about her.  If anyone, it was about Claire and Kevin.  But she wasn't Claire and Oliver wasn't Kevin.

Picking up her pace, Felicity practically ran to her trailer.  She scrabbled through her tote bag and yanked out her phone, hitting the contact for Sara.  

“Hello?”

“Sara, it’s me.  Please tell me you’re free tonight,” Felicity asked, pacing as much as she could in the cramped confines.

“Felicity?  Um, yeah, I’m not really doing anything . . . is something wrong?”  

Sara’s voice was concerned and confused.  It made Felicity want to burst into tears.

“I--I need to get drunk,” she told her friend.  “And I could use a wingwoman, someone to talk to about why I need to get drunk.  So come with me to the Women in Hollywood cocktail party, so we can drink on someone else’s dime?”  

There was a long pause, and Felicity braced for Sara to turn her down  and/ or to talk her out of this plan, because it really was a crappy plan.  

“Okay, sure,” Sara said, shocking Felicity.  “I’ll meet you at your place in, what, an hour?  You book the Uber for us.”  

Letting out a deep sigh, Felicity nodded.  “You’re on.  See you in an hour.”  

Luck continued to be on her side.  No one stopped her on her way to her car, and even the LA traffic didn’t interfere with her laser-set focus.  She was totally set on not thinking about what had happened today, and instead turned all her attention towards getting home.  

The garment bag with tonight’s dress and accessories was hanging in her closet, left there by Shado at the start of the week.  When she had tried on the bright red dress, with its blue and red metallic floral pattern, she had really liked it.  Tonight, it felt too sophisticated, too grown-up for her.  But if she didn’t wear this, she didn’t have anything else.  But shouldn’t a woman have at least one fancy cocktail dress in her wardrobe?  God, she was barely an adult.  Yet she thought it was possible that Oliver actually liked her--

No.  No no no.  

Felicity slid her feet in the strappy nude sandals Shado had included, then finished getting ready: light makeup, hair in a ponytail, and her glasses on.  Just as she was finishing up, there was a knock on the door.  

“Hey,” Sara said when Felicity opened her front door.  Her friend looked so much more glamourous in her slinky green dress and casually messy bun.  She stepped in and immediately hugged Felicity, before stepping back to look at her.  “Are you okay?”  

The only thing that kept her from crying was pressing her lips together very hard.  Felicity did her best to smile and nodded her head.  “Nothing bad happened . . . I just kinda had my whole world turned upside down, and I don’t know how to cope with that.”  

Sara tilted her head.  “You wanna give me a bit more?  Because you’ve been a nervous wreck all week--is that connected to this world-shaking event?”

Nodding again, Felicity gestured behind Sara.  “The Uber is here.  Let’s go and I’ll start explaining everything.”  

The minute they were in the backseat of the car, and under cover of the NPR coming from the driver’s radio, Felicity looked straight ahead and began talking.  Explaining how she had become friends with Oliver, while always being conscious that it didn’t feel like any other friendship she had ever had.  The way his smiles made her feel.  Nearly blowing more than one take when they had shot Kevin and Claire’s first kiss.  

All leading up to what happened today.  

“Wait, so . . . Oliver just pulled your hand in?” Sara asked, touching Felicity’s forearm.  

Felicity nodded, slowly turning to look at Sara.  “He did.  And he said it was very believable that Kevin wanted Claire.  But, Sara--I knew--I knew he wasn’t just talking about our characters.”  

Sara let out a soft whistle.  “Wow.”  

“Tell me about it,” Felicity said weakly, slumping back against the seat.  

“No wonder you wanna get drunk,” Sara said.  “I mean, you touched Oliver’s--”

“Don’t go there, Sara.  I just--I can’t think about what this means,” Felicity said, running her hands over her hair.  “Because then all I would think about is Oliver and nothing else, and I just--I can’t do that.”  

A wrinkle creased Sara’s forehead.  “Why not?”

“My life is  _ crazy _ right now.  I'm practically living on air so I can fit into my Oscar dress.  If I get more than four hours of sleep, something feels wrong.  I'm shooting the most demanding movie I've ever worked on, with one of the most charismatic, gorgeous actors in the world.  I don't trust myself at all right now!” Felicity exclaimed, the words tumbling over themselves as she spoke.

“Everything that's happening is happening for a reason,” Sara insisted.  “If you had run into Oliver at some industry party, you probably wouldn't have spent enough time get to know him.  If you hadn't been going crazy over being nominated for an Oscar, you'd be obsessing over your performance in  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  The universe is doing this to you partly because it knows you can handle it, but mostly because it wanted you to have so much going on that you can’t overthink anything.  It’s doing this so you could develop feelings for Oliver without your brain getting in the way.”

Felicity let her head fall back against the seat with a thump.  Sara’s brand of spiritualism wasn't Felicity's cup of tea; she was a lot more comfortable with the God she had grown up hearing about in Hebrew school.  And besides, Sara made it sound like nobody had free will.  Felicity refused to believe that.  She was the sum of her experiences and choices.

And right now, she was faced with a major choice.  Did she believe that Oliver had real feelings for her, feelings that would last beyond the wrap party for  _ The Gravity of Love _ ?  Or should she write this friendship, like Oliver's erection, off to proximity and friction?

“I need booze for this,” she groaned.

“Well, you're in luck,” Sara said, nudging Felicity's shoulder.  “Because we're here.”

“Thank God,” Felicity said, opening the door and hopping out of the car.  Sara linked arms with Felicity and they sailed past the clipboard-wielders at the entrance to the pool area at the Chateau Marmont.

Within a few moments, Felicity spotted a waiter with a tray of brightly-colored drinks, each one garnished with a slice of pineapple.  Felicity took two and handed one to Sara.  “Look, dinner!” she cried with forced cheer, taking a bite of pineapple. 

Sara laughed and took a bite from her own garnish, before lifting her glass.  “Fake it 'til you make it.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” Felicity echoed, clinking her glass against Sara’s.  She took a healthy swallow, rum and pineapple juice going down her throat.

She knew she was hiding.  Felicity was well aware of that.  Ever since she had met Oliver, she had been trying not to think about him.  Trying to hide from the truth.  Because the truth was just too scary, too dangerous.

Because the truth was . . . she knew she was crazy about Oliver.  He wasn't what she had expected at all.  When she had first come to Hollywood, and discovered she shared an agent with Oliver Queen, she had been shocked.  Why was Tommy Merlyn wasting his time on her when he represented one of the biggest movie stars in the world?  What did she have in common with Ollie Queen?

And then she had met Oliver for the first time during a party at Tommy’s house, and she  _ liked _ him.  Right from the start.  Yeah, he was rich and famous and really too gorgeous, but he was never anything but polite, friendly, easy-going.  She knew he thought his past behavior was something to be ashamed of, but Felicity didn't agree.  She didn't see anything wrong with how he had acted back then; she knew better than to believe the tabloids.

Yes, his reputation worried her a little before they started shooting  _ The Gravity of Love _ . . . but she saw, from the first moment they started working together, that Oliver was different from the guy Hollywood thought he was.  Different from the guy she had met all those years ago.  He was focused, intense, but capable of laughing at himself and so thoughtful towards other people.  He was a good man.

A good man that she was more than halfway to falling in love with.  A good man who might love her back.

Felicity took another gulp of her drink.  Why did they have to be actors, living their lives under a microscope?  Wouldn't it be so much easier to fall for Oliver if they were both normal people?  Not that she thought Oliver could ever be normal . . . and neither could she.  But right now, the worst thing Felicity could think of was having the press chronicle every step of a relationship with Oliver--especially if it ended.  Because it would hurt so badly if it ended, and then there would be questions and photos and . . .

No.  She wasn't doing this.  What happened today was one actor helping another.  Oliver might have been turned on by her, he might like her a friend, but now was not the right time to explore this.

Now was the time to get drunk off her ass.

XXX

INT.--SLEEPING CABIN--SPACECRAFT

KEVIN wakes up alone.  Looks around in confusion, then gets out of his sleeping bag and floats towards CLAIRE’s cabin.  

CLAIRE is in her sleeping bag, awake but not moving.  KEVIN sees her and swallows, before knocking against the side of her cubicle.

KEVIN

Knock, knock.  

CLAIRE  
(smiles weakly)

Good morning.

KEVIN

Good morning.  (pause)  You look like you regret last night.

CLAIRE  
(shocked)

No!  Well, maybe the logistics, but--but no, I don’t regret it.  

KEVIN moves closer to her until he’s half-in, half-out of her cubicle.

KEVIN

No?

CLAIRE shakes her head, smiling, but then grows serious.

CLAIRE

I . . . I know you probably aren’t going to like this, but--but I think . . . I think we’re in the middle of a very stressful time, our emotions are all over the place, and--and we’re breaking dozens of rules and procedures.  

KEVIN  
(voice breaking)

Do you--do you not want to be together--

CLAIRE

What?  No!  

CLAIRE reaches out and grabs a handful of KEVIN’s pajama top.  She pulls him in towards her.  

CLAIRE

I don’t know how you can’t see how crazy I am about you, but I am.   So crazy, Kevin.  That’s not going to change.  I just think until we know if we’re going back home or going to Mars, we should wait.  I . . . I can’t forget that we’ve got a job to do up here.  

KEVIN looks at her for a long moment, a smile slowly dawning on his face.  He leans in towards CLAIRE and kisses her softly and sweetly.  

KEVIN

Yes, Commander.

XXX

A quiet night at home--home being Tommy's house.  Some music playing on the fancy sound system--a band that Thea had introduced him to.  A glass of good Scotch, the same brand his father used to drink, gently warming his body with every sip.  A copy of his script, open to the scene they would be shooting tomorrow.

It was the kind of night he hadn't experienced in a long time, the kind of night he had begun to appreciate as he got older and his priorities had changed.

But Oliver just couldn't settle in for his quiet night.  His blood hummed in his veins and his mind was racing.  He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened today.

When Felicity's small hand had been pressed against his groin.

God, what had he been thinking?  Felicity could sue his ass for sexual harassment.  There were so many ways he could have reassured her, and he chose the way that gave him fantasy material.  He was still such a douchebag.

Running a hand through his hair, Oliver took a deep breath.  Beating himself up about this wasn't helping.  He couldn't change what he had done.  He just had to hope that Felicity wasn't too embarrassed or disgusted by him.

He would find out tomorrow.

After a sip of his drink, Oliver picked up his script and leaned back in his chair, ready to work.  But then, there was the sound of the front door opening and Tommy's voice.

“Oliver!”

“What?” he asked, jumping to his feet at the sound of Tommy’s frantic cry.

His best friend looked disheveled when he appeared in the doorway of the living room.  “I need your help.  It's Felicity.”

Oliver felt a chill go over him.  “What . . . what's wrong?”

Tommy ran his hands through his hair.  “She's totally wasted at some industry cocktail party.  Sara Lance just called me--she's trying to keep Felicity under control, but Sara's been drinking too and she needs backup.  I know I was going to keep best friend and agent separate, but--”

“Where are they?” Oliver asked, grabbing a jacket.

“Chateau Marmont,” Tommy said, heading outside to his car.  The Marmont was only ten minutes away, which was a relief.  But that didn’t mean Oliver didn’t feel worry and guilt clawing at his guts as he got in on the passenger side.  This was his fault, and he should tell Tommy that, but . . .

As soon as he was in the car, Tommy pulled out with screeching tires.  “I don’t know what got into Felicity’s head to do this . . . I thought everything went okay today?” Tommy asked.  “I didn't hear anything from Digg but praise--he said you guys nailed it, no pun intended.”

It was all Oliver could do not to groan and bury his face in his hands.  But he just took a breath.  “Yeah, it went fine.  Maybe there’s something else bothering Felicity.”

“With all the pressure she’s under, no wonder she’s blowing off some steam tonight,” Tommy said.  “I just wish she hadn’t done it with press watching her every move.”  

“I never thought about that when I needed to cut loose,” Oliver commented.  

“Yeah, I remember,” Tommy said, giving him a quick grin as he pulled his car up to the valet stand.  “Let’s just hope Felicity’s not punching any photographers.”  

Oliver huffed out a strained laugh as he exited the car and followed Tommy.  They split up and began circulating, in search of Felicity and Sara.  It was a typical cocktail party as far as he could tell, other than ninety percent of the guests were women.  Which made sense when he saw the signs indicating the event was being hosted by the female members of the producers’ guild.  

It did make it a little tougher to find Felicity and Sara: two gorgeous blondes blended in with this crowd.  But within a few moments, Oliver spotted them.  Sara was in green, her arm wrapped around Felicity, who was wearing a red dress and looking like a knockout.  He wasn’t used to seeing her in red; other than the polo shirt that was part of her costume, he had never seen her at one of these events in anything other than blue.  

Sweeping his gaze across the pool area, he caught Tommy’s eye and pointed in the direction of Sara and Felicity.  Tommy looked, then nodded to Oliver, telling him silently to get over and help Sara, and Tommy would get there as soon as he could.  

Doing his best to not be rude, Oliver moved past the guests, smiling and nodding and exchanging brief greetings.  Each moment he had to spend, though, made his anxiety grow.  He knew Felicity was all right, but . . . but he didn’t like the idea of her getting drunk in order to deal with what had happened today.  Or maybe he was being arrogant, thinking Felicity’s behavior was because of him.  That didn’t change how he felt he was at fault, though.

“Oliver!”  

It would be rude to groan, but Oliver was really tempted.  But instead, he pasted a smile on his face.  “McKenna, it’s so great to see you.”  

McKenna Hall, the ball-busting director--a title she had claimed for herself--of one of his first movies, smirked at him.  “I doubt that,” she replied, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.  “What are you doing here?  You’re not exactly a woman in Hollywood.”  

He did his best to chuckle.  “Yeah, I’m missing something that’s needed to be a woman.”  

Humming in agreement, McKenna raised her glass to her lips and sipped, her eyes measuring over the rim of her drink.  “I don’t suppose Tommy mentioned to you that I’ve got a script you’d be the perfect lead in, did he?”  

“No, he hasn’t mentioned it,” Oliver said, glancing over towards where he had last seen Sara and Felicity.  “But there’s been a lot going on.  Right now,  _ The Gravity of Love _ is taking up all my energy.”  

“Right, John Diggle’s passion project.  He keeps crediting you for his start.  Nice of you to support him,” McKenna said.  There was a note in her voice that niggled at Oliver, something catty and resentful.  Towards Digg, maybe?  If he had the time, he would have figured out.  But the last thing he wanted to deal with now was McKenna, who said she was the best yet always claimed sexism when her movies didn’t do well.  

“And your co-star, too--you’ve gotten very cozy with Felicity Smoak,” McKenna continued.  

Oliver finally found Sara again.  She caught his eye, her expression worried and even on the edge of frantic.  And that decided things for Oliver.  

“We both want the best for  _ The Gravity of Love _ ,” he told McKenna.  “Sorry, I’ve got to go.  I’ll ask Tommy about the script--have a good night, McKenna.”  

Without a backwards glance, he closed the distance between himself and Sara and Felicity.  

“Thank God you’re here, Ollie,” Sara said once he was within earshot, giving him a tight smile.  

“Of course,” he said, resting a hand on her back and looking at Felicity, who was leaning heavily against Sara’s side.  

She was dressed to the nines and totally looked the part of a young, up-and-coming actress. Unless you looked too closely at her eyes, and saw the sadness and confusion and stubbornness in them.  And Oliver knew then that this was his fault.  That this--her actions tonight--was about trying to deal with what he had done earlier today.  

It took a moment for her eyes to focus, but then they locked onto his.  “Ollllie!” Felicity squealed, the slur evident in her voice.  “Ooh, you’re here!  And you’re so pretty.  That jacket is--”  She let out a whistle, fanning herself, and then she burst into giggles.  

God, she was really trashed.  Leaning down, Oliver did his best to smile and hide what he was feeling.  “Hey, Felicity.  How about you come with Sara and Tommy and me, and we’ll get you home?”  

Felicity flailed her hand out, grabbing onto his jacket and pulling her in against him.  “You wanna take me home?” she asked, looking up at him with big blue eyes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.  

Her plump lip, painted a rosy pink.  Oliver swallowed, trying not to remember how it had felt to suck on that lower lip.  

“You’re drunk, Felicity, and you’ve got work in the morning,” he explained gently.  “C’mon.”  

A heavy sigh erupted from Felicity.  “Why are you so good?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes drooping slightly.  “You take care of me all the time--you treat me like your sister, but I know you look at me and don’t think I’m like your sister.”  

If only she wasn’t drunk.  If only Sara wasn’t standing there, acting like she wanted to be anywhere else.  If only they weren’t surrounded by half of Hollywood.  

Before Oliver could come up with something to say, some way to tell Felicity she was right without making this worse, Tommy appeared by his side.  “We’ve got trouble.”  

“Tell me about it,” Sara muttered.  

Tommy ignored Sara.  “The press has every exit staked out.  Oliver, you go towards the front with Sara and talk up how much of a feminist you are.  I’ll take Felicity and sneak her out through the kitchen.  Meet at the car.”  

It wasn’t a great plan, but Oliver knew it was the best they could do.  So with a nod, he gently steered Felicity, who now seemed on the verge of passing out, over to Tommy, who wrapped an arm around her and moved towards the service area.  

Oliver looked at Sara and did his best to smile.  “Think you can help me with my bona fides?” 

She smiled, but her eyes looked sad.  Like she pitied him.  “Sure, Ollie.  Just give me your arm--those rum punches were deadly.”  

“I can see that,” he said, letting her wrap her hands around his arm and walking with her towards the exit.  

Just as Tommy said, there were plenty of photographers and video crews, clustered around the entrance and catching guests as they were going inside for desultory interviews.  Once they saw Oliver, though, everyone sprang into action.  

“Oliver, Oliver!  What brought you to the Women in Hollywood party tonight?”

“Is this lovely lady your date, Oliver?”

“Mr. Queen, are you taking a stand for feminism?”

Giving the newscaster a charming smile, he said, “I’m glad you asked, Bethany.  I think that supporting women in Hollywood is the best thing men can do.  I want to see movies about women, movies that show their unique experiences, movies that are made by women with their own perspective.  It’s about time we stopped pretending there isn’t a sexism problem in Hollywood, so I want to do my part.”  

“Is that why you’ve been seen so much with your co-star, Felicity Smoak?” asked a reporter from  _ Entertainment Tonight _ .  “You’re supporting her as a feminist ally?”

“Felicity is an incredibly talented actress--you don’t get an Oscar nomination in a Cracker Jack box,” Oliver said.  “She doesn’t need my help.  She’s extraordinary all on her own.”

A reporter bearing a microphone with the TMZ logo pushed her way through.  “So you’re saying there’s no romance between you and Felicity?”

Sara’s hands gripped his arm tighter, sensing the danger of the question.  Oliver felt his heart pound in his chest.  Because everything in him wanted to contradict the reporter--to say there  _ was  _ romance between him and Felicity.  That he was crazy about her and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Felicity as part of his life.  

But instead, Oliver slowly said, “Felicity and I are committed to our current project,  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  We want nothing but the best for this movie, and I don’t think I’m putting words in Felicity’s mouth by saying we’re both looking forward to finishing filming and getting this film into theaters later this year.”

The reporters pushed in some more, but Oliver held his hand up as he pulled Sara along, who looked like she was ready to unload on them all.  “Thanks, everyone!  Have a good night!” he called out--words he couldn’t mean less.  

“Ollie,” Sara hissed, “do you know what you’ve done?”

Nodding, Oliver picked up the pace.  “Yeah, I know.”

His denial about any potential romance between himself and Felicity made it sound like he was spending time with her only for the sake of  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  Which couldn't be further from the truth--and was sure to be spun by the press into Oliver not wanting Felicity.  

When he wanted her so badly, he just couldn’t seem to find a way to put it into words.  

End, Chapter 10

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early treat for y’all: since I’m attending Heroes & Villains Fanfest this weekend, and it’s the Fourth of July on Monday, you get this chapter today! I hope you enjoy this chance to breath, because after this chapter, a lot is going to happen. :-) 
> 
> Many thanks to the amazing acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, for her fantastic beta work in the midst of her super-busy life.

 

With dark glasses shielding her eyes from the early dawn, Felicity climbed into her car.  Leaning her head back, she still kept her eyes closed as she attempted to manage her hangover.

She hadn't drunk like that in a long time--and never at a function that could impact the future of her career.  Which was a big mistake.  Not only did Tommy have to show up to rescue her, she had fuzzy memories that . . . she had done something?  Said something?

Rubbing her forehead, Felicity took a sip of water, trying to rehydrate.  As much as she wanted a vat of coffee and a big chewy bagel with strawberry cream cheese, she knew neither would help her.  Water now, then a smoothie once she got to set: that would do the trick.  Eventually.

But she could still take some Excedrin.  Digging through her purple tote, she let out a groan when she realized the bottle of pills must be in her red tote.

“Can we stop at a drugstore, please?” Felicity called out to Rob, her driver.  She could wait until she got to set, she knew, but she didn't want to wait.  Because her head hurt a lot.

“Of course, Ms. Smoak,” Rob replied promptly.

“Felicity,” she reminded him, just like she always did.

Rob let out a chuckle but didn't respond until he pulled into the parking lot of a Walgreens.  “What can I get you, Ms. Smoak?” he asked, but Felicity was already unbuckling her seat belt.

“No, I've got it.  You need anything?”

He didn't look like he wanted her to go, but Rob just shook his head.  Hiking her bag onto her shoulder, Felicity walked into the drugstore, looking around and spotting the medication aisles.

The fluorescent lights were bright and made her squint a little.  She focused on getting the Excedrin, not really noticing anything else.  Once she had her medicine, she got in line.  Felicity let herself get lost in her thoughts, until she thought she heard her name.  Looking around, she noticed a TV mounted over the cash register, tuned to KTLA.

“That's right, Felicity Smoak sure had a good time at last night's Women in Hollywood party,” cackled the KTLA entertainment reporter, a little troll of a man whom Felicity couldn't stand.  “She's become a fixture on the party circuit after her Oscar nomination--and she's normally been accompanied by her current co-star, Oliver Queen.  Who hasn’t been having such a good time with our Miss Smoak, it seems.  That’s according to multiple reports.”

What?  What did that mean--?

A striking dark-haired woman, one who looked vaguely familiar, appeared on screen.  “Yes, Oliver mentioned how important  _ The Gravity of Love _ is to him.  Of course he’d do anything to promote it,” the woman said, identified as McKenna Hall, director.

And . . . there was Oliver, talking into a TMZ microphone.

“Felicity and I are both committed to our current project,  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  We want nothing but the best for this movie, and I don’t think I’m putting words in Felicity’s mouth by saying we’re both looking forward to finishing filming and getting this film into theaters later this year.”

There was a clicking, rattling noise.  Felicity looked down and realized she had dropped the bottle of pills.  Because . . . she seemed to have lost control of her body.

Because she remembered.  Oliver had been there last night.  And she had grabbed him by his jacket (the one with the high collar that made him look supremely hot) and asked him if he was going to take her home, and--

Oh, God.  She had told him that he didn't look at her like she was his sister.  Which she wasn't even sure if she knew what that meant or why she had said it, but it was bad.

And the whole time that they had been attending industry parties together and they had been getting closer, he had been spending time with her to promote  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  He couldn't wait to be done filming so he didn't have to be around her.  Because anyone could read between the lines of what Oliver had said and figure that out.

Turning on her heel, leaving the bottle of Excedrin on the floor, Felicity fled for the car.  She climbed into the back seat and told Rob, in a voice thick with unshed tears, to start driving.  Once she felt the car moving, Felicity pulled off her glasses and pressed her hands to her face.

This didn't make sense.  She--she  _ knew _ that Oliver didn't see her like a sister.  She  _ knew _ that he wasn't ready for filming to be over.  Just like her.  There was only a week left.  A week left of seeing Oliver every day, seeing him smile, hearing his voice, feeling that spark of connection when they acted together.

She refused to believe he was ready for this to be over.  Because she wasn't ready.  She wasn't ready to go back to being acquaintances with Oliver, people who saw each other at parties and couldn't quite remember if they had worked together.  

That wasn't what she wanted.  And it was time for her to work for what she wanted.  To stop denying her desires, to stop acting like it was unthinkable for there to be something between herself and Oliver.

It was time to stop hiding.  Which meant talking to Oliver.  Telling him that just like it was believable for Kevin and Claire to be a couple, it was just as believable for them.  For Oliver and Felicity.

Ever since they had started filming, she had told herself now wasn't the time to take a chance on a relationship.  That her life was too unsettled.  But maybe Sara had been right: maybe she had gotten closer to Oliver now because there was so much going on.  She had been too busy, too  distracted to realize she was falling for him.

And she  _ was  _ falling for him.  Every day, there was something about Oliver that made her like him more.  More than like, in fact.  She was done with trying to be only friends with Oliver.  

It was time to talk to him.  Time to tell him.  

Although maybe not this morning, not when she was still dealing with her hangover--no.  No, she had put this off long enough.  Put off too many conversations with Oliver.  It was time to be honest with him.  And with herself.  

“We’re here, Ms. Smoak.”  Rob’s voice was cheerful, but there was a note of concern in it.  

“Thank you, Rob,” Felicity said, sliding across the seat and stepping out of the car.  Taking a breath, she walked across the set, heading for Oliver’s trailer.  And as she approached his trailer, Felicity found herself smiling.  She felt happy--even with how her head was pounding and her mouth felt like cotton.  It was like she finally felt like herself, after weeks of acting.  Which was a bit of an exaggeration, really--she knew she hadn’t been pretending to be someone else.  But she had certainly been more cautious than she normally was.  Which meant that being proactive . . . it felt good.

When she reached his trailer, she climbed up the steps, remembering that day not long after filming had started, when they had sat on these steps.  Her side pressed against his, feeling the heat of his body, telling herself she didn’t feel tingles at the contact.  

But Felicity was done telling herself she wasn’t feeling things.  

Balling her hand into a fist, Felicity rapped on the trailer door.  She waited a long moment, then knocked again.  “Oliver?” she called out, leaning back a little to see if there was anyone moving around inside the trailer.

“Felicity?”

Digg’s voice made her turn around, seeing her director accompanied by the scriptwriter.  “Good morning, Digg.  Hey, Lyla,” she said, pasting on a smile.  

“Hi.  Looking to talk to Oliver?” Digg asked, his eyebrow raised.  “He’s coming in late today.  Has some things to take care of this morning.  So we’re gonna pick up scene 62.”  

“Oh,” she said slowly, knowing she should move down the steps, but her feet were strangely frozen in place.  Her face felt hot and her palms were clammy.

Lyla exchanged a look with Digg, and then Digg nodded to Felicity and walked away.  She could only imagine the silent conversation between them--but she was pretty sure why Lyla wanted to talk to her.  

“Are you okay?” Lyla asked, not beating around the bush.  It was something Felicity normally liked about Lyla, but with how she was trying to process Oliver wanting to come in late today, she wished she could have some more time to gather her thoughts.  

“I just . . . I wanted to talk to Oliver about last night.  To apologize,” Felicity said, adjusting her tote bag on her shoulder.  “I was drunk and I said some things that were inappropriate.”

“And see if he would apologize to you?” 

Felicity gave her a weak smile.  “So you heard about that, huh?”

The older woman nodded with a sympathetic smile.  “Yeah.  You know Oliver was just caught off-guard.”  

“I know,” Felicity said, finally stepping down from Oliver’s trailer and walking away from it.  Lyla fell into step beside her as Felicity paced towards her own trailer.  “I just . . . it feels like he's avoiding me now, and I don't like it.  But I suppose I deserve it.  I’ve been avoiding him a lot.”  

“You deserve honesty.  Both giving it and receiving it.  I’m glad, though, that you want to talk to Oliver,” Lyla said, patting Felicity’s shoulder.  “What brought this on?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Felicity said, “When you want to get hammered in order to avoid your problems--that’s not healthy.  Or sustainable.  Realizing that was what I had done, it made me take a good long look at myself.  And me being drunk caused all of this . . . I guess that’s why Oliver was at the party last night and he got cornered by the paparazzi?  I don’t know--I need to check in with Sara.”  

“Not a bad idea,” Lyla acknowledged.  “But you're still going to talk to Oliver, right?  Because--well, neither John nor I have wanted to get too involved, but we've been ready to lock you in a closet to get you two knuckleheads to communicate.”

_ Really? _   Felicity thought to herself.  They hadn't been that bad--yes, she had perhaps internalized 'discretion is the better part of valor’ a little too much lately, but were they really . . .?  One look at Lyla's dead serious face told her that yes, they  _ had _ been that bad.

“I promise,” Felicity vowed, then held up her cell phone.  “I'm gonna text Sara before I go to makeup.  It was good seeing you, Lyla.”

Lyla waved and headed towards Digg's trailer, leaving Felicity alone.  She sent off a quick message to Sara and walked slowly to her own trailer.

Hopefully, Oliver just needed a little extra time this morning for an errand or something.  She didn't want him to avoid her--and maybe she was wrong.  But the fact that Lyla hadn't contradicted her when Felicity said that made her think she was on target.  Oliver  _ was _ avoiding her, and giving her a taste of her own medicine, although probably without meaning to.  It wasn't that she didn't stand by her behavior; up until last night, she hadn't acted inappropriately.  But she hadn't been honest, either.  And if Oliver needed a little time to be less-than-honest with himself, Felicity would let him.  In fact, not seeing him right away might be for the best, because it gave her time to prepare.

She just hoped it wouldn't be too long.  There wasn't much time left shooting this movie, and after such a great experience so far, it would suck if she and Oliver were on the outs.

A chill actually went through her at the thought of not being on good terms with Oliver.  Felicity took a deep breath, gathering all her resolve.

There had been so much time lost to her fears and doubts.  They were all still there, but with the end in sight, suddenly it felt more important that she didn't let this chance at something amazing slip through her fingers.

So she would watch Oliver like a hawk and look for signs of him being ready to talk.  And then . . . They would talk.  Hopefully they could clear the air about what Oliver said last night, and both of them could get on the same page about where they were.  That there was a true friendship between themselves.  Something strong enough to support more, which was something they could talk about as soon as filming was done.  Talk . . . and maybe make out a little, she thought with a blush.

After so many denials, it felt strange to be filled with so much belief in herself.  But that was what Oliver did for her, Felicity realized.  He made her think anything was possible, that she could have anything she wanted.  He always had, even when she was telling herself that the most they could ever be was just friends.

Now Felicity just had to start convincing Oliver that he was what she wanted.

XXX

MONTAGE.  KEVIN and CLAIRE trade nervous glances during the morning briefing with WALKER and GREG.  They carefully navigate around each other while preparing a meal.  CLAIRE floats into the gym, only to see KEVIN sweating through a tank top, his muscles flexing as he performs resistance training, and she turns and floats away.  CLAIRE bends over her tablet, yawning as she reads, only for KEVIN to take her hand and put a pouch of coffee into it.  CLAIRE looks up at him and smiles her thanks; KEVIN doesn’t move, his fingers wrapped around hers for a long moment before he lets go and starts to float away.

CLAIRE

Don’t go.

KEVIN  
(eagerly)

What?

CLAIRE

Um . . . NASA is calling soon.  I was just going to get Walker and Greg looped in for the call.  

KEVIN

Oh.  Of course.

KEVIN moves towards the communications center, floating behind the chair.  CLAIRE moves to join him, drifting into the chair.  She pulls up the feed from the MEM and WALKER and GREG appear on screen.

CLAIRE

Hi, guys.  How’s it going?

WALKER

At this point, I’m ready to go home as long as it meant I didn’t have to listen to Greg’s snores.

GREG

I don’t snore.

KEVIN

Oh, you do.

CLAIRE

You’ll have to continue this another time, boys.  

CLAIRE taps on a few buttons, and then the second video screen displays the face of MCCOY.

MCCOY

I won’t beat around the bush.  We believe we have a solution for the airlock doors.  

(pauses, then smiles)

Let’s find out if it works, shall we?  

XXX

“H’lo?”

Even though it was after five in Paris, his sister's voice sounded like he had woken her up.  “Hey, Speedy,” Oliver said.  “Did you go to France to sleep all day?  Because you could have done that at home.”

“God, Ollie, you jerk,” Thea whined.  “Just 'cause you musta’ve been up for hours . . .”

“Nope, I got up about an hour ago.”

There was a long moment, the silence only broken by what sounded like sheets rustling, and then Thea spoke, sounding more awake.  “Oliver, it's . . . eight-thirty in LA.  Are you not at work?”

“Not yet.  Late start today,” Oliver replied, striving to make that sound totally normal.  Even as he tried to keep his voice down, to not wake up Tommy.  Because he knew Tommy would know about the interview, and he wasn’t looking forward to his agent’s reaction.

“Oh,” Thea yawned.  “So why are you calling me?”

“Can't I call my only sister to say hello?”

As soon as the casual, flippant words were out of his mouth, he knew he had screwed up.  That seemed to be a habit for him lately, wasn't it?  Trying not to reveal what he was feeling, trying to deflect interest and curiosity to another direction?  Some actor he was.

“Ollie.”  Thea's voice was very serious.  “What's wrong?”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes.   _ Everything _ .  “Nothing's wrong, Thea.  I just . . . I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Because you miss me a lot and you can't wait to see me again, I know,” said his brat of a sister.  A sister who had spoken the complete truth.  He  _ did  _ miss her.

“You wish,” he retorted--a weak comeback, he knew, but it was about all he could say past the lump in his throat.

“But you know that if something was wrong, Ollie, and you needed my help . . .”

Nodding, Oliver straightened up in his seat, sitting at the table in Tommy's kitchen.  “You'd be the first person I'd call.”

“Okay,” Thea said.  “But you're really all right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver spotted Tommy and he knew the moment of reckoning was upon him.  But maybe . . . maybe that was what he needed.  To be told how he had messed up, to have someone confirm how he was feeling.  Because he felt so trapped in his own head that he didn’t know which way was up at the moment.  He needed another perspective.

“Yeah, Speedy.  Sorry for waking you up,” Oliver said, gesturing to Tommy to give him a moment.

“It's okay,” Thea said through a yawn.  “I'll call you in a day or so, when I'm more awake.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Oliver said, watching Tommy's face.  “Bye.”

With a mumbled goodbye, Thea hung up the phone and Oliver lowered his cell to the table.  He took a deep breath.  “Are you my agent or my friend right now?” Oliver paused as a third option occurred to him.  “Or Felicity's agent?”

“I'd be violating a whole bunch of confidentiality clauses if I was wearing my 'Agent for Felicity Smoak’ hat right now,” Tommy said, picking up the coffeepot and bringing it to the table along with a mug.

Oliver nodded and held his cup out for a refill.  “So you want to chew me out for that interview?  I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that they were the wrong thing to say, but--”

“Oliver, Oliver, calm down,” Tommy said, shooting him a look as he filled his own mug.  “Friends right now.  Because as your friend, I'm worried that you're home, when you should have been at work three and a half hours ago.”

“Are you sure you're not being my agent?” Oliver tried to joke, wrapping his hands around his mug.

“Your agent would be on the phone, doing the song-and-dance to spin this on your favor,” Tommy pointed out.  “C’mon, Oliver.  Talk to me.”

He swallowed.  “I realized that now I can never ask Felicity out, so I needed a morning to mope about that.”

Tommy did a double-take.  “What the hell?  What happened to asking her out once filming wrapped?”

“I can't do that now,” Oliver said, hearing how bleak his voice sounded.

“I'm not following, Oliver.”

Fortifying himself with a sip of coffee--or maybe just taking an extra moment before he had to explain the truth to Tommy and receive the acknowledgement that Oliver was right--he organized his thoughts.

“It's out there now that I was only 'dating’ Felicity to help promote  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  So now, that's going to stick to us if we're ever seen together.  If we start dating right after the movie wraps, it'll be about publicity.  If we wait until after the movie's out, it's about promotion.  There's nothing the press loves more than an on-set romance.  Add in Felicity Smoak, Oscar nominee and probable winner, and they would do nothing but hound us and make this into something it's not.”

Tommy was shaking his head, but Oliver went on.  “But that's overlooking the biggest issue: there's no way Felicity is going to forgive me for what I said.  I made her look pathetic--like no one would want to date her except for publicity's sake.  If we started dating, everything would think she’s a pushover--that she’s no different from any other Hollywood starlet.  I'm not going to let her get that reputation, Tommy--she deserves better.”

He paused, looking down into his mug.  “She deserves better than me.”

“Are you done?” Tommy asked after a moment, his voice vibrating with emotion.

Nodding, Oliver braced himself.  He knew that Tommy would argue with him.  Point out all the ways he was being a melodramatic asshole and tell him there was no reason to think he wasn't good enough for Felicity.

But what his best friend actually said was very different from what he had expected.

“I never realized what a fucking coward you are.  To think, Oliver Queen's jumped out of helicopters and gone swimming with sharks, but tell him he has to be a little bit vulnerable in front of a slip of a woman, and he turns tail and run.”

“That's not what this is about,” Oliver said, glaring at Tommy.

“Isn't it?” he replied.  “I know where this is coming from--I was there when you were impulsive and reckless.  Seeing you grow up like you have, it's been something to see.  Something that made me proud to call you my friend, because I knew it wasn't easy.”

Oliver's mouth went dry as he took in the fire in Tommy's blue eyes.  This wasn't going like he had planned.

“You've gone too far, though, Oliver,” Tommy continued.  “You're so scared of being careless again, you've taken the weight of the world on your shoulders.  For a few years, yeah, you were in over your head with Thea and your career.  So you shied away from anything risky that could affect her or your ability to make money.  But it's not like that anymore--you can have something you want.  Someone you want.  I've seen how Felicity looks at you--you tell her what you want and she's yours, man.”

“I--I--” Oliver sputtered, feeling at a complete loss for words.  Because . . . was Tommy right?  Was he a coward?

Everything in him recoiled at the idea.  No man wanted to be a chicken, to be scared of anything.  Yes, he had doubts just like any other person, but had they become something worse?  More like fears that he didn't want to confront?

“I'm not like that,” Oliver finally said.  “If I was such a coward, I would have never taken the part in  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  I wouldn't have come to you after our fight.  I was vulnerable in both those cases, even though I was scared, but taking the risk paid off.”

“So what has you so scared about Felicity?” Tommy insisted.

His friend's refusal to see his point made Oliver bellow.  “Because if she doesn't want me--if it doesn't work out, which let's face it, there's nothing that says it will, based on my history--I'm gonna be fucking destroyed!”

Tommy snorted--he actually snorted.  “No one dies from love, Ollie.”

Whether it was from Tommy lapsing and calling him Ollie or his utter disdain, Oliver lost it.  He stood up, knocking his chair back.  “If you knew me like you claim to do--like I know you do--you'd know how serious this is for me.  I've never felt like this before!  So fuck yeah, I'm scared.  I don't want to mess this up.  Maybe that makes me a coward in your eyes, but I'm not gonna try for anything with Felicity unless it's gonna work!”

“Then you're never gonna start something because there's no guarantees, Oliver!” Tommy argued.

He opened his mouth to counter Tommy, but then Oliver sighed, the anger draining out of him.  “What do you think I can do, Tommy?  Do you think Felicity is going to forgive me for what I said?  I screwed up, but only because I wasn't gonna confess to TMZ that I have feelings for her.  So what am I supposed to do now?”

Leaning down, he picked up his chair and sat back down, then looked levelly at Tommy.  Who was suspiciously silent.  “What, no advice from the expert?” Oliver asked caustically.

Tommy frowned, looking regretful.  “I lost my temper.  I'm sorry.”

Nodding, Oliver kept looking at him.  Putting Tommy on the spot to come up with a suggestion for what to do next, since he had opened this can of worms.

“Honestly, you just need to talk to Felicity.  Have you guys ever even done that?  Talked about your relationship--not Kevin and Claire's,” Tommy finally said.

“I'm willing to do that,” Oliver began, only for Tommy to scoff.  He pointed a finger at his friend.  “I've been following Felicity's lead, and you can't deny she’s been pretty closed-off and cautious lately.”

Tommy tilted his head to one side, thinking that over, then nodded.  “Okay, yeah, it's a fair cop.  But I think it's time for you to force the issue.  Figure out where she stands, so you know when you should make a move.”  Tommy paused and eyed Oliver.  “Note that I said when, not if.”

“Noted,” Oliver said with a huff of annoyance that made Tommy grin.  “And maybe you're right.  I should probably check Felicity's temperature, to see if she'd be receptive to anything more.”

“I like to take temperatures with my tongue in the girl's mouth,” Tommy said with a smirk.

“Classy, Merlyn,” Oliver said, throwing a sugar packet at him from the jar of them on the table.

Tommy shrugged his shoulders and smiled.  “You should get to work.  See if you can talk to Felicity during the lunch break.”

Oliver shook his head.  “No, this should wait until tonight, when we're done filming for the day.”

“Oliver . . .” Tommy groaned.

“Think of how awkward it would be otherwise,” Oliver said.  “It's already gonna be tense on set, since everyone will know what I said.”

“All right, all right,” Tommy agreed.  “Go hit the showers before you go in.  You want me to set up a dinner reservation for the two of you?”

As he stood up, Oliver shook his head.  “No way am I doing this in public.”

“Probably for the best,” Tommy conceded.

Was it?  Oliver wasn't sure about about any of this, really.  After last night, he didn't know if approaching Felicity was the right idea.  But maybe Tommy was right, and he had let himself be a coward.  He didn't know.  Everything still felt like a mess right now, even after getting Tommy’s opinion.

But he still had to get to work.  Still had to do his job, still wanted to keep acting his ass off in this part.

He just might have to do some acting in his real life now, if he thought that Felicity wanted to keep this professional.  But to figure that out, he would have to talk to her.  Even though he had done a crappy job expressing himself lately, he couldn't put off this long-overdue conversation any longer.

Tonight, he would find out if there was any hope for him and Felicity.

End, Chapter 11

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering how long this fic was going to be, I have happy news--it’s going to be fourteen chapters total! Thank you to everyone who’s been reading while this fic was very much a WIP and updated only occasionally--as we reach the end, I hope you find it was worth the investment of your time.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, with Oliver and Felicity FINALLY talking! And if you’re confused by the dessert that Oliver and Felicity both mention: [loukoumades](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lokma).

 

The morning passed slowly for Felicity.  Now that she had made a decision, now that she knew it was time to talk with Oliver, she was impatient to see him.  Even if they couldn’t talk right away, she was ready to be honest with him.  And she really wanted to see him.  She wanted to soak up all the good feelings that being in Oliver's presence gave her.

She had wasted so much time.  Well, maybe not wasted--before now, Felicity wasn't sure if she would have been ready to contemplate an actual relationship with Oliver.  Instead, she had buried herself in her role in  _ The Gravity of Love _ and preparing for the Oscars.  

But soon, she wouldn't have either of those excuses.  They were scheduled to wrap a week from today, and the Oscars were the following weekend.  Maybe that was why she was feeling so brave: because if she didn't say anything to Oliver, soon she wouldn't know when she might see him again.  

Although . . . could she ask him to be her date to the Oscars?  A real date, not some half-friendly, half-professional pairing, like it had been at the Golden Globes.  It was going to be such an intense night--she could use Oliver's support.  And she sure as hell wanted to make a statement to the world about them.  Something to counter Oliver's words to the press.

Sara had texted her back, explaining what had happened with the reporters.  How Oliver had immediately realized the impact of his words, but there was no way to take them back.  Sara's last text had been  _ He didn't mean it--and you know that _ .

Which was true.  She did know Oliver didn't mean it--she knew their relationship wasn't just about this movie.  It was so much more.  And the idea that it could be even more--that it could be everything--was enough to send her off into morning sunlight daydreams of her, Oliver, a bed and croissants.

Felicity smiled to herself, before giving her head a shake.  She was getting ahead of herself.   _ Way _ ahead of herself.  This conversation with Oliver wasn't something to rush through; there were a lot of misconceptions between them.  Misconceptions that went beyond their lack of communication.  She couldn't expect that tonight would clear everything up and she and Oliver would be together now.

But oh, how she wished it could be that easy.

“Hi, Felicity.”

The sound of Oliver's voice made her whole body feel alive.  Her skin tingled, her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded.  Taking a deep breath, she faced him.

He looked so worried.  And sad.  

“Hi,” she said, sliding off her director's chair.  “I understand you and Tommy kept me from making a complete fool of myself last night.”

“No, you were fine.  I've done so much worse,” Oliver replied with a tight smile.

She smiled back at him, impressed again with how forgiving he was.  How self-deprecating.  “Still . . . Thank you.  Um, I was wondering. . .”

Now that it was time to start the ball rolling, Felicity felt her fears and doubts fluttering on the edges of her mind.  But things couldn't go on they had been.  And Oliver, the wonderful noble idiot he was, clearly wasn't going to make a move.  Especially after last night.  So it was up to her.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?  I'm pretty sure I said some things last night that were embarrassing and I'd like to make it up to you,” Felicity asked, gazing up at Oliver.

Part of her was bracing for him to turn her down.  For him to say everything was fine.  But everything  _ wasn't _ fine.

But instead, Oliver nodded.  “I--I feel the same way.  That there are things that I want to explain.”

The relief she felt at Oliver's agreement was so strong, she almost swayed on her feet.  Somehow, she held it together.  “Do you want to come over to my place?”

Oliver shifted his feet a little.  “Okay.  I could pick up dinner.  Do you like Greek food?”

She nodded, fighting a smile.  This felt right.  Making plans with Oliver, the hum of anticipation filling her body . . .

“Then Greek it is,” Oliver said, some of the sadness fading from his face.  The worry was still there, which Felicity understood.  She was worried, too.  But she was also . . . well, excited wasn't the right word.  But she was pleased they were finally going to put their cards on the table.  She was nervous about how tonight would go, and a bit embarrassed she hadn't been honest with herself or Oliver, and resolved that after tonight, things would be different.

Once they talked over what had happened, they could move past the misunderstanding and see what they had between them.  Of course, things would have to go slowly, since they were still filming, but as soon as they were done . . . she could test the waters by asking Oliver to be her date to the Oscars.  

No matter what happened, Felicity knew now that she couldn’t hide from her emotions.  She couldn’t lie to herself and forget her own value.  She had let herself get sucked up in Hollywood's twisted value system, instead of listening to her heart.

“I'm looking forward to it,” she told him softly.

“Me, too,” Oliver said, gazing at her.

“Oliver, good to have you here,” Digg said, appearing beside them.  “Let's get to work, all right?”

Oliver nodded, taking an extra moment to look at her before he turned to speak to their director.  And Felicity felt a bubbling of hope inside herself.

Fortunately, Digg had decided to hold off on shooting the morning-after scene, choosing to move ahead slightly in the story.  Which meant Felicity had a much easier time keeping her nerves in check.  Or at least, in expressing Claire’s excitement at NASA finding a fix for the malfunctioning airlock doors, Felicity could use her nerves in her performance.

And the scene was good.  Experiencing the joy at the mission being able to proceed, portraying Claire’s happiness at the crew being back together again . . . it felt good.  It reminded her of why she had held back on exploring her feelings: in order to make this movie be the best.  Yet now she could admit that prioritizing the movie had also let her give in to her fears.  But the time for being scared was over.  

That resolve carried her through the rest of the day and through her drive home.  After their conversation, she and Oliver hadn’t spoken of anything but work, but there had been a lot of eye contact, a lot of things left unspoken.  Things that were being saved for tonight.

Once she returned home, Felicity quickly shed the yoga pants and stretched-out t-shirt she had worn to set that morning, in favor of a pair of skinny jeans and a simple tank top.  Oliver didn’t have to know that she spent five minutes debating over which shirt to wear before she finally picked a red one, because Oliver had told her he thought red was a good color on her when she had been complaining about the polo shirts they had both worn as part of their astronaut trainee costume.  

Right after she finished getting dressed, there was a soft knock on the door and Felicity took a deep breath.  Running a hand through her hair, which she had taken out of its ponytail when she got home, Felicity opened the door.

Oliver was wearing jeans and a henley with a baseball cap.  It was an outfit that she had seen him in before, but . . . it was the first time she really let herself look at him.  Take in how the faded material of his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, marvel at how long his legs looked in his jeans.  And then she looked at his face and she felt her whole body get warm.  Because he was just so handsome.  Gorgeous.  Hot.  

Yet the crazy thing was, his blue eyes and perfect lips weren’t what she noticed first about him anymore.  No, now she noticed the way his eyes showed everything he felt.  The beauty of his smile.  

If it was possible, Oliver was even more gorgeous on the inside.  And she couldn’t wait until she could tell him that.  

“Hi,” she said, unable to hold back a big smile.  “Come in.”  

He nodded and returned her smile, although his was a bit more reserved.  “I hope you’re hungry.  I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a little bit of everything.  Greek salad, stuffed grape leaves, eggplant moussaka . . .”

“Just as long as you got loukoumades, I’m happy,” Felicity said, taking one of the bags from his hand.  Their fingers brushed and Felicity felt her cheeks flush.  

“What’s the point of Greek food if you don’t have loukoumades?” Oliver asked, looking more relaxed as he chuckled.  “Most people say it’s for the baklava, but I’ve had dreams about loukoumades.”

She couldn't help beaming at him, and Oliver smiled back, and . . . Why did they need to talk again?

But then she saw the light fade in his eyes, and he busied himself with opening the cartons of food, and Felicity remembered why.  There were too many things being left unsaid between them, and those unspoken words were starting to hurt them.

Over dinner, held on the small patio that ran along the back of her house, they kept the conversation light.  Mostly about his sister and her Oscar prep.  But that didn't mean there wasn't tension.  It was there when his hand brushed against hers when passing her the grape leaves.  It was there when she caught his eyes as she licked honey off her finger.

Finally, their plates were empty and Felicity couldn't wait any longer.  “I'm sorry about last night,” she began, clasping her hands in her lap so she wouldn't fidget.

She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.  “What do you remember?”

“I know I had a handful of your jacket,” Felicity said, trying to sort through her booze-soaked memories.  “And I think I brought up Thea in some way?”

Oliver nodded.  “Yeah, that's about it.  Really, Felicity, if there's anyone who should be apologizing, it's me.”

“What happened?” she asked, gazing at him.  “Sara told me you knew what you had said, but I don’t understand why you said it.”  

The tension was clearly obvious in Oliver, but this wasn’t the good kind of tension.  She watched him struggle to find words, but she didn’t say anything.  She wanted to hear what he had to say--she wanted to know what he was feeling.  

“I was helping Sara run interference with the reporters, while Tommy got you out the back,” Oliver began.  “Me being at a cocktail party for women in Hollywood . . . there were questions about that.  Not just from the press--McKenna Hall cornered me.  I think she’s pissed that I’ve been advocating for Digg over her.”

“Have you ever worked with her?  I’m not familiar with her,” Felicity said, pushing aside her plate to lean her arms on the table.  

“One of my first movies was directed by her.  She’s a good director, but . . .” Oliver paused and then shrugged.  “I don’t think she does much to elevate the material.  Which isn’t the point.  She was upset with me and I was distracted because I was looking for you.  So when I saw you, I just gave her some line about how we both wanted the best for the movie.”  

Felicity nodded slowly, trying to put all the pieces together.  “So when KTLA was interviewing her, she had something to say about how you weren’t having a good time with me.  Combined with what you said, about how we were both--”

“I know what I said,” Oliver interrupted, his eyes fixed on hers.

Biting her lower lip, Felicity wondered just how much she wanted to hold Oliver’s feet to the fire.  How much she wanted to push him to be honest with her, instead of letting things slide.  She knew his words had been a slip of the tongue, an accident committed by someone who knew how to play the Hollywood press game but made a mistake in the heat of the moment.  But his words had still hurt her.

If she focused on the mistake too much, though, it would be too easy for them to get sucked into a whirlpool of guilt and recrimination.  And that wasn’t what she wanted to do tonight.  No, it would be better to acknowledge it, making it clear that it had happened, but moving on to the real heart of the matter: speaking about what up until now had remained unspoken. 

“And you knew it was a mistake as soon as you said it,” Felicity countered, not looking away from him.  Summoning up all her courage.  “You made it sound like we aren’t even friends.”  She swallowed.  “And . . . we are friends, aren’t we?”

XXX

INT. -- SPACECRAFT

KEVIN moves around in the galley, gathering food and preparing it for the rest of the crew, a big smile on his face.  But when CLAIRE floats in, his smile tightens slightly.  

KEVIN  
(trying to sound normal)

It’s going to be a little bit until dinner’s ready.  Taking my time, since we’re celebrating.  It’s great to have us all back together again.  

CLAIRE

I didn’t come in here to talk about dinner.  

KEVIN fidgets with the food containers, shoving one into the microwave.  Then he uses his hands on the counters to turn and face her.  

KEVIN

Then what did you come in here to talk about, Claire?

He sounds tired, worn-out, confused.  CLAIRE gazes at him, then floats towards him and wraps her arms around his neck.  

CLAIRE

Us.  

KEVIN  
(shocked)

Us?

CLAIRE

Yeah, us.  Because . . . because in six weeks, we’ll be on Mars, starting our mission.  We’ll have more privacy.  We’ll have gravity.  

(pauses)

And because I am in love with you and I can’t wait.

KEVIN’S eyes light up and he hugs her tightly.  He leans in to kiss her, only to pull his head back.  

KEVIN

What about NASA?

CLAIRE

What about them?

KEVIN

The regulations, the rules--we’ll be breaking dozens of them, like you said.  

CLAIRE looks like she’s gathering all her courage.  

CLAIRE

What are they going to do, fire us?

KEVIN gazes at her, a smile slowly growing on his face before he leans in to kiss her.

XXX

As he stood in line at the little Greek restaurant in the Hollywood Hills, waiting for his order to be prepared, Oliver looked around and imagined what it would be like to bring Felicity here.  To sit in one of the dimly-lit corners, candlelight flickering over her face but being eclipsed by the light in her eyes and the brightness of her smile.  To drink ouzo and feed each other loukoumades, to lick honey off each other’s fingers . . . 

_ Easy there, Queen _ .  

The little voice in his head helped put the brakes on his fantasy.  Just because Felicity invited him over for dinner didn’t mean they were going to get together tonight.  There was a lot that had to go right before that could happen.  A lot that needed to be explained and forgiven before he could take a chance at expressing his feelings.    

But at least they could talk about what happened last night.  Which was . . . different.  

Up until now, it had all been long looks and glancing touches between them.  Words that sounded innocent but had a deeper meaning.  But Oliver didn’t think they had ever shared a conversation that was simple and honest.  Without any barriers or double meanings.  

Not until today.  

To say he had been shocked that Felicity asked him to dinner--well, that was putting it mildly.  Because he had been completely shocked.  She had been so direct, so clear-cut.  It was a different kind of behavior from her than he was used to seeing.  Ever since they had started working together, Felicity had been even more circumspect than he was--not that he was ever all that effusive with her feelings.  But he understood that.  Interactions at parties and industry functions, scattered over five years, meant he never really felt like he knew much about her.  But once they started working together, and he realized just how much she played her cards to the chest, how cautious she was in her behavior . . . 

Felicity didn’t let people in easily.  It was something he could respect.  In a town like Hollywood, with jobs like theirs, it was hard to feel like you could have something real.  All of the glitz and glamour, the press around every corner, made you want to hold back and go slowly.  So having her invite him over to her house, to share a meal with her . . . it gave him hope.  Maybe too much hope--it had been hard for him to keep things in perspective for the rest of the day.  

And now, with the start of their dinner only minutes away, Oliver could admit that he was feeling overwhelmed by the possibility that all his dreams might come true tonight.

“Oliver?”

The owner of the restaurant calling out his name made Oliver suck in a breath and straighten up.  He had to be focused, willing to let Felicity direct what happened tonight.  Yet he hoped he would finally be able to say some of the things he had been holding back.  

Picking up the bags of food, Oliver carried them out to his car and drove to Felicity’s place.  As he navigated through the LA traffic, he found himself constantly having to dial back his expectations.  It was important to keep his hopes somewhat in check, since there was still a lot to talk about.  He wasn’t going to risk changing things with Felicity unless he was sure she wanted this, too.  Just because he wanted more didn’t mean she did--not with how she had been so careful in her actions.  

Approaching him, inviting him to dinner so they could deal with what happened last night . . . it was a good sign, he thought.  

Not to mention she had invited him to her house.  That was another good sign.  Up until now, he had only seen what was visible from the front door--whenever he had arrived to pick her up for the parties they had attended together, Felicity hadn’t invited him in.  More drawing lines between her real life and her work life, he had guessed.  

Tonight, he got to see a bit of her house: comfortable, colorful and cozy, with overstuffed couches and bright throw blankets scattered around.  It wasn’t what he was expecting.  He thought Felicity would have chosen a more modern style, with clean lines and no clutter.  But seeing bookcases overflowing with books and--was that a poster for  _ The Adventures of Robin Hood _ ?  Oliver couldn’t help smiling at the sight of that.  He never would have pegged Felicity as a fan of swashbucklers . . . just like he was.  

Felicity walked him out onto the back patio for dinner, after an awkward moment when she smiled so brightly at him that he couldn’t help smiling back, and then they were just standing there smiling at each other, and Oliver felt all those hopes rising up inside him, and . . . he just had to look away.  

Once they had food on their plates, things got a little easier.  They exchanged small talk as they savored the excellent food and Oliver began to relax.  To actually look forward to really talking.

But then Felicity looked at him and said simply, “I’m sorry about last night,” and Oliver felt the doubt and worry reawaken inside him.  Especially when Felicity only had fuzzy memories of what happened--events that were burned into his brain.  Because she had grabbed him by his jacket, holding on to him as she swayed on her feet.  Because she had looked up at him, all big blue eyes and a pouty lower lip, and asked him why he treated her like his sister when she knew his feelings were very different.  

Which was a good question.  But not one he could have answered when she was drunk.  And he wasn’t sure if he could answer it when she was sober, not with his comments to the press hanging between them.  But the problem was, how could he explain what he had said without revealing how he felt?  Because he just didn’t think he could tell Felicity without first knowing what she wanted.

It was a total Catch-22 and Oliver wasn’t sure how to deal with this.  He kept trying to find the right words, but he didn’t know if there were any words that would be right in this situation.  

Finally, he decided to start with just filling in the blanks in her memory.  Which meant telling her why he was talking to the press in the first place: to give Tommy cover as he sneaked Felicity out of the party.  Which meant talking about McKenna--an annoyance that couldn’t be avoided, because she was part of the puzzle.  

A puzzle that Felicity was trying to put together, which made him just feel so impressed with her.  She was working to figure this all out, working to solve this mystery.  Even if the answers might be uncomfortable.  They sure were for him.

“So when KTLA was interviewing her, she had something to say about how you weren’t having a good time with me.  Combined with what you said, about how we were both--”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted, still feeling embarrassed by his lack of finesse.  He had spent ten years in the public eye, after growing up as part of Starling City society.  He knew how to interact with the press, how to give a statement that gave away nothing about how he felt.  The one time he had really needed that skill, he had completely lost it.  

Something about his words made Felicity lean back in her chair a little, gnawing on her lower lip with her eyebrows drawn together.  She looked lost in thought, and Oliver felt more nervous with each second that passed.  Because what was she thinking?  

“And you knew it was a mistake as soon as you said it.  You made it sound like we aren’t even friends.” 

She paused, the muscles of her throat clearly working as she tried to keep speaking.  When she spoke, there was the slightest tremble in her voice.  A tremble that made him realize how important this conversation was to her.  “And . . . we are friends, aren’t we?”

Friends.  She wanted to be friends with him.  

Ever since they had started working together, it had been fairly clear that Felicity was only interested in a work friendship.  She never talked about her personal life, never mentioned her family or friends, didn’t share what she did on her weekends.  Oh, she talked: about TV shows she watched, about technology, about people they had in common in the industry.  

When she had needed support or came to him for advice, it had always been about work issues: how they should approach a scene, what she should do about preparing for the Oscars.  Even when they were away from work--like when they had lunch with Thea--Felicity hadn’t volunteered much about herself.  Instead, she had kept the conversation about Thea and Oliver’s relationship, how Thea liked living in Paris . . . 

Oliver felt staggered.  Until now, he hadn’t realized how much Felicity knew about him and how little he knew about her.  Being friends with her, especially while they were shooting, had been enough for him, because he thought they could build upon this foundation and create something more.  But now he was seeing that their foundation wasn’t what he thought it was.  

It would seem that Felicity was only interested in being friends--the kind of friends that you made on a movie set and then never spent time with again, unless you shot another movie together.  

But maybe . . . maybe he didn’t have this right.  Maybe he was making assumptions.  And if Felicity was actually talking to him, if she was trying to be honest with him, he should take advantage of this opportunity and meet her honesty with his own.

“Is that what you want to be?  Friends?” he asked tentatively, looking at her.

The moment he spent waiting for her answer felt endless.  He couldn’t look away from her, noting every little flicker of emotion in her eyes, every little movement of her face.  

Finally, she pursed her lips, her eyebrows drawn together.  “Of course I want to be friends.  It makes working together so much easier, and . . . I’ve really come to appreciate your advice over the last few months, Oliver.  If it wasn’t for you, I’d have gone crazy.”  

He broke eye contact with her and looked down.  He couldn’t look at her as he felt his dreams dying.  Because . . . friendship was all she was willing to offer.  A distant, situational kind of friendship.  She saw him as a work colleague--she wanted to be friends to make shooting the movie easier.  She wasn’t interested in more than that.  There might be a hundred reasons why she only wanted friendship with him, but whatever they were, they were enough to make her not want more.  To see him more as a mentor than anything else.  

Which was . . . fine.  It was fine.  It was her choice.  But it just meant he now had to make a choice, too.  How was he going to get over her?  

“Oliver?  Is everything okay?”

Taking a deep breath, trying to collect himself, he nodded.  He lifted his hand and rubbed it over his face, then looked at Felicity.  “Yeah.  I’m fine.  It’s just been a long day.  I’m glad it’s the weekend.”  

It was a nothing kind of response.  It wasn’t like he had any weekend plans or anything.  But maybe . . . maybe he was testing her.  Seeing what she would do with that opening. 

“Oh, me, too,” Felicity said, giving him a small smile.  “Weekends are great.”  She paused and pressed her lips together.  “So . . . we’re friends.  Which is great to hear.  I guess I just misunderstood what you said last night, just like the press did.  But then, that’s not surprising--they’re always looking for something they can blow out of proportion.”  

“Right,” Oliver said.  “Just a big misunderstanding.  Because we are friends.  And coworkers, who just want the best for our movie.”

Felicity’s smile widened.  “Yes, on both counts.”  She reached forward and lightly rested her hand on top of his.  “I’m really glad we talked about this, Oliver.  Cleared the air, so we can finish up the movie and give it our best.”  

“Me, too,” he said, nodding.  

“I’m just going to take care of these dishes, because I hate doing the dishes so much, I can’t let them wait,” Felicity said, rising to her feet and taking the dirty plates and silverware.  “I’ll be right back.”  

“Okay,” he replied, watching her move into the house.  

Then he slumped down in his chair, letting his head fall back so he could look up at the stars.  

All a big misunderstanding.  

Like thinking that Felicity might want more with him.

End, Chapter 12 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hurt me. Remember, only two more chapters to go?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so difficult to get started, especially since I knew how I wanted it to end. This chapter is what I’ve been working towards the entire fic, so raise your hand if you’re excited for Oscar night. If you’d like to see Felicity’s dress, it’s available on the [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/) for this fic. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter of **Love is Red**!

 

Inside the Dolby Theatre, Felicity sipped from a glass of champagne and waited for her mother to finish in the restroom so they could take their seats.  Tucked away in a corner, she gazed out at the throng of people crowding the foyer.  It was bright and loud and overwhelming, which was probably why it was all a dim buzz to Felicity.    

Although honestly, this feeling of disconnection wasn’t new.  It had been growing during the last week of filming  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  Then, in the week between their wrap party on the last day of shooting and tonight, the Oscar ceremony, that feeling had gotten worse.  

Looking back on her night so far, she only had flashes of memories: brief moments in time that led to this point.

_ Shado leaning back, holding a lipliner, lip brush and a lip gloss between the fingers of her left hand, while her right hand held a lipstick.  “I think you’re ready.” _

_ Her mother looking like she was on the verge of crying as she saw Felicity.  “You look beautiful.  So beautiful, baby.”   _

_ The toothy smile of Giuliana Rancic.  “Who are you wearing tonight, Felicity?”   _

_ “The dress is by Monique Lhuillier, and the diamonds are from Harry Winston.” _

_ Ryan Seacrest moving in for the kill.  “And who’s your date tonight?” _

_ “My mom, Donna.  She’s so excited to meet Tom Cruise.” _

It should be the most exciting, thrilling, gratifying night of her life.  The point when she felt like all the hard work, all the long hours, all the choices, had paid off.  Because she was a success.

But when she had looked in the mirror at her house, at the woman in the stunning red dress, with the elaborately simple half-updo and perfectly applied makeup . . . she hadn’t felt like a success.  Not even a little bit.   Hiding from her peers on a night she had been recognized by them for the quality of her work.  The night when she would be judged as the best or the near-best.

Everything was just . . . flat.  Flat and dull instead of happy and joyful.

And it was all because Oliver wasn't here.  Because everything had gone wrong somehow.

She didn't understand how it had happened.  After their conversation last week,  she had thought everything was okay--that they were on the same page.  During the last week of filming, Oliver had been . . . different.  He was still friendly, still smiled at her.  But when she asked about Thea or anything that wasn't related to work, he changed the subject and directed the conversation back to  _ The Gravity of Love _ .  

It wasn't until the wrap party, when she saw him laughing and joking around with Mel and Twinkie, when she saw him hug Digg and kiss Lyla on the cheek, when he had a long conversation with Roy, that she started to realize his behavior had changed only towards her.  When she had asked him to be her date on Oscar night, he had shocked her by saying he wasn't going to attend--that he was planning to go out of town.

After that, her excitement for the Oscar ceremony began to diminish.  So now, it just felt like another thing she had to do, like press junkets or burpees or kale smoothies.  

It had been eye-opening, realizing how much her happiness about the Oscars had been tied up in having Oliver be her date tonight.  She felt crushed.  And it made her wonder if perhaps she had been right to hold back, to spend time considering her feelings before really committing, because if she felt like this when they had never had a real date, how would she have reacted if they started dating and then broke up?

But Felicity knew that was just a justification.  If she and Oliver had actually started dating . . . she wouldn’t have let anything split them up.  She would have worked so hard for them.  She just didn’t know what she had done to make Oliver change his opinion of her.  Did he not want to be friends?  She had thought he did--and in fact, he had confirmed that he wanted to be friends.  He was now one of her best friends.  And friendship was the best basis for a relationship, she had always thought.  She had just needed a little more time . . .   

Taking a large sip of her champagne, Felicity tried to stop thinking about Oliver as she saw her mother navigating the crowd to rejoin her.  

“My God, that was the fanciest bathroom I’ve ever been in--and I work in Caesar’s Palace,” Donna said in a way that made Felicity think she was trying to be quiet.  But she was still louder than Felicity would have liked.  

As Donna smoothed down the purple strapless column gown that Shado had provided, she smiled at Felicity.  “How are you doing, hon?  You probably need help getting to the bathroom in that dress.  Do you want to take care of that before we sit down?”  

“No, Mom, I’m fine,” Felicity said, handing her empty glass to a passing waiter.  “How’s my lipstick?”

“Still perfect,” Donna said, her voice sounding choked.  “That shade of pink is great on you.  Really, you--you look like a movie star tonight.”

Frowning slightly, Felicity stepped towards her mother.  “Is something wrong?”

Donna reached out and took Felicity’s hand.  “Yes, baby--I’m worried about you.”  

“Mom,” Felicity began, but Donna interrupted her.  

“It’s like the light’s gone out in you.  And I know why--because I saw your face when I asked why you weren’t taking Oliver Queen as your date tonight.”  

Was she that obvious?  If she was, why hadn’t Oliver seen how she felt?  Why had he pulled away?  Felicity looked down, trying to hold back the sudden prickling of tears.  

“I know this isn’t the time,” Donna said as she squeezed Felicity’s hand.  “But tomorrow, I hope we can talk about this.  Because I think you need to talk to someone, baby.” 

Searching her mother’s face, Felicity saw the worry, the concern, the caring.  It made something in her chest grow tight, even as she stood up straighter.  Her mother was right--she  _ did  _ need to talk to someone about this.  And she knew that Donna would listen and understand, even if Felicity also knew that Donna’s advice was likely to be “Put on your shortest dress and go get him!”

Over Donna’s shoulder she could see Tommy approaching.  So Felicity nodded quickly in agreement before he got within earshot.

“Felicity, I didn't know you had a sister!”

As Donna beamed, Felicity managed to smile a little.  “Tommy, how many times do you think I've heard that?”

“Too many, probably,” her agent said with a grin and a kiss to her cheek.  “You look beautiful.”  Then he paused and tilted his head to one side.

God, she could already tell--he wanted to say something to her.  What kind of actress was she if everyone could read her expression, except for the one person she wanted to know her?  Pushing aside those thoughts, she focused on introducing her mother to Tommy.  But once the small talk was over, Tommy took Felicity's arm.  “Donna, may I borrow Felicity for a moment?  The usher can escort you to your seat.”

Before Felicity could raise any objection to this, Tommy had led her away.  “You're like a poster child for bipolar disorder--one moment you look miserable and the next you're smiling like a prom queen.  What's wrong?” Tommy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Felicity bit her lip, knowing she was wrecking her lipstick.  But . . . she just didn't care.  And gazing at Tommy, Oliver's best friend, she knew he could have an answer to the big question that had been plaguing her for a week.

“I . . . I wanted Oliver to be my date,” she admitted softly, looking up at Tommy.  “But he turned me down when I asked, so . . .”

Tommy looked at her, his eyes narrowed, them lifted a hand to rub his eyes.  “You two are gonna turn me gray.  And I am too young to be a silver fox.”  He dropped his hand and pinned her with his gaze.  “Felicity, the only reason Oliver isn't here is because you wanted to be friends.  Just friends, according to him.”

_ What? _

She stared at her agent, trying to figure this out, feeling totally confused and shocked.  But then . . . the pieces started to fall into place, and Oliver's words at their dinner were put into a new light, and--oh, God.

Tommy rubbed her shoulder.  “There's something else I need to tell you.”

“Uh-huh?” she asked, too dazed and too caught up in her thoughts to really pay much attention to Tommy.  Until she realized what he was saying.

“Oliver’s here tonight.”  

“What?” she yelped, staring at Tommy, convinced she hadn’t heard him correctly.  

He smiled tightly.  “Oliver’s here.  He was getting ready to head to the airport when Brad Pitt called in a favor.  Brad’s stuck on some mountain in Argentina and couldn’t get here to present, so he asked Oliver to pinch-hit for him.”  

“Brad Pitt was presenting Best Director.  That’s the category before mine,” Felicity spluttered, the random fact the only thing she could grasp right now.  

“I know,” Tommy said.  “Look, I’m not getting involved in this, other than to say, one of you has to say something.  And I think it has to be you.  Because after months of Oliver pining for you, he’s not gonna make a move without a pretty clear signal from you.  So . . . so you might wanna think about what you want with Oliver.  He rescheduled his flight for tomorrow, just so you know.”  

Felicity felt Tommy’s eyes on her face, but her own gaze was locked on the floor.  Because there was just so much going through her mind, thoughts whizzing around like cars on the freeway, and she was too focused on trying to get everything to slow down so she could think--

A sudden pinch on her forearm made her jump.  She met Tommy’s eyes, her mouth falling open to yell at him, when she stopped.  Tommy smiled grimly.  “There you are.  I said your name twice and you didn’t say anything.  We’ve got to get inside.”  

Looking around wildly, she saw the foyer was starting to empty out.  For a moment, she considered just turning tail and running.  Or ignoring Tommy and searching the whole theatre for Oliver.  But she knew she couldn’t do that--she had to take her seat and wait.

But now, instead of waiting for her category to be announced, she would be waiting for Best Director.  

Nodding jerkily, Felicity took Tommy’s arm and let him escort her into the auditorium.  She eased into her seat next to her mother, who started chattering about meeting Meryl Streep, but Felicity didn’t really hear what Donna was saying.  

Instead, she was trying to dissect Tommy’s words.  Oliver had been pining over her for months?  Oliver thought she only wanted to be friends?  That explained Oliver’s sudden standoffishness, the way he had pulled back after that dinner.  

Here she thought they had taken a step forward by talking, here she had been proud of herself for broaching the issue.  But they hadn’t taken a step forward, but several miles back.  And . . . during that conversation, she hadn’t really been honest.  She had been hedging her bets, trying to get Oliver to open up without meeting him halfway.  

She had been letting her fears hold her back, even after she had resolved to force the issue.  Even after she knew Oliver’s feelings for her were far from platonic, thanks to what happened while filming scene 74, she had been too scared to act.  

And now, staring down the reality of a world without Oliver, Felicity knew that nothing mattered but telling him all the truths that were in her heart.  It was just a matter of how she was going to do that.  

When the ceremony started, Donna stopped talking and took Felicity’s hand.  Felicity did her best to pay attention, but it was hard to do that when her mind was trying to find the right words to use with Oliver at the first chance she got.  

Sadly, the very first chance was hearing his name announced and watching as Oliver walked across the stage.  

Seeing him for the first time in a week, Felicity soaked in the sight of him.  Watched him as hungrily as if it had been a year since she had seen him.  He looked incredibly handsome in his tuxedo.  He was wearing the same practiced smile she saw him give to the paparazzi and other people he didn’t like.  He looked as miserable as she felt.  

His voice was a soft rumble that filled her chest, but Felicity couldn't really make out any of his words.  She could just watch him, feeling her heart expand in her chest, until it felt too big for her body.

She loved him.  She, Felicity Smoak, loved Oliver Queen.  Loved everything about him, loved everything she didn’t know yet . . . she just loved him.  And she really needed to tell him that.  

“And Felicity Smoak,  _ High Tide _ .”

It took all her talent to not startle at the sound of her name.  Somehow, while she had been lost in her epiphany, Oliver had stepped off stage and Martin Stein, last year’s Best Actor winner, was reading the list of nominees for Best Actress.  

As soon as she lost, she decided, she would jump up and dash up the aisle, leaving the auditorium to find Oliver.  Hopefully he was doing press and hadn’t ducked out--

“And the Oscar goes to . . . Felicity Smoak,  _ High Tide _ !”

XXX

MONTAGE.  Now that the crew has been reunited and is on their way to Mars, a new camaraderie is present. GREG and KEVIN joke around while preparing dinner.  WALKER and CLAIRE race each other on the treadmills.  KEVIN and WALKER float equipment back and forth to each other.  CLAIRE and GREG point at a computer screen and look at their notes as they discuss the results of an experiment.  CLAIRE and KEVIN exchange looks while GREG and WALKER look at each other and roll their eyes.

XXX

God damn Brad Pitt.

Oliver couldn't say he was friends with Brad; they had worked on a few charity projects together.  Occasionally, Tommy and Brad’s agent had tried to get the two of them into a movie together, but the projects had always fallen through in some way.  Oliver knew there was a mutual respect there, one that meant no need to call in favors.

But apparently he was wrong.  He had been finishing his packing, getting ready for his trip to visit Thea, when his phone had rung.

Brad had needed to fly back to South America for reshoots and now he was stuck there due to bad weather.  And he was asking Oliver to take his spot in the Oscar ceremony, in repayment for a favor Brad had done Oliver at the start of Oliver's career.

It was annoying to be asked.  Or really, to be asked like this, as if he wouldn't do it unless it was about favors.  It was so tempting to tell Brad to shove it.  But Oliver knew that right now, his judgement was impaired.  So he told his colleague that of course he would do it.  But as soon as he was off the phone, he let out a loud curse.

“What's wrong?” Tommy said, standing in the doorway to Oliver's room.

“Brad Pitt asked me to present for him tonight,” Oliver said with a sigh as he began punching buttons on his phone.  “He cashed in his favor.”

“The one from introducing you to Slade?”

At Oliver's nod, Tommy made a face.  “Having to work with Slade paid off the favor, in my opinion.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't say no,” Oliver replied, pacing a little as he listened to the automated menu for his airline's customer service number.  “Now I have to change my plane ticket, find a tux on Oscar Sunday--”

“Face Felicity.”

Oliver looked at Tommy, slowly lowering the phone from his ear.  He had nailed the reason for Oliver's grumpiness: his fear of seeing Felicity, knowing there was no hope for the two of them to have anything more than friendship between them--and on the night when she was hailed as the success she was.  Oliver knew she was going to win the Oscar; he had been in Hollywood long enough to get a sense for these things. 

After tonight, she would be even more out of his league, and he hadn't wanted to watch that happen.  Which was why he had planned to skip the Oscars and fly to Paris, for a long-overdue visit to Thea.

“You're going to have to see her again at some point,” Tommy said gently.  “I mean, the press for  _ The Gravity of Love _ is going to be happening in a few months.  Rather than let things fester and become even more awkward . . . it might as well be tonight.”

Oliver looked down and nodded, seeing the wisdom in Tommy’s words.  It was going to painful whenever he saw Felicity again.  At least this way, they wouldn’t have to really interact.  At most, they might see each other, exchange a few words . . . 

His best friend stepped into the room and laid a hand on Oliver's shoulder.  “You handle the plane ticket, I'll make some calls about a tuxedo.  I've got your back.”

At different times in his career, Tommy had said the same thing to Oliver.  But this time, it wasn't about a part or money or billing: it was one friend telling another that they weren't alone.  Oliver gave him a small smile.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Tommy said, pulling out his phone.  “Now let me work my magic.”

Huffing out a soft laugh, Oliver returned his attention to his phone, waiting to speak with a representative of the airline.  But the moment of hope and levity faded as he considered what was ahead of him.

Watching the woman he love win the award he had no hope of ever being nominated for.  Because he was just a basic action hero, who might be capable of more, but would rarely be seen as anything but a movie star for countries where they didn’t speak English.  Having to be close to Felicity, to keep his smiles muted and his heart hidden, when all he wanted was to hold her close . . . 

Well, it sucked.  And he didn’t want to do it.  But Felicity only wanted friendship, and . . . and that would be enough.  Eventually.  He just needed to work hard and make sure he kept his feelings to himself.  That he didn’t give away how he was feeling, because it would only make her uncomfortable. 

But now that he was in a tux and standing in the wings before stepping on stage to present Best Director, Oliver felt nerves like he had never experienced before.

He could see Felicity from here and she looked beautiful.  Her dress was a showstopper: real old Hollywood glamour, and the rest of her perfectly fit that part.  He knew that anyone who looked at him could tell how he felt about her.  

Yet maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, because he thought she looked . . . sad.  Lost in her head.  Confused.

But he couldn't think about that any more, because he had to go on stage.

This wasn't the first time he had presented an award, not by a long shot.  He focused on the teleprompter, reading the script and then announcing each of the nominees.  It was a bit of a blessing, because he couldn't look at Felicity.  Not until the winner had stepped on stage to claim her award, and Oliver had to stand off to the side while she gave her acceptance speech.

And then all he could do was look at Felicity, whose expression had changed.  She looked less confused now and more like she was trying to figure out something.

All he knew was that Best Actress came next, and he had to get out of here.  He walked off stage left, right into a crush of people: assistants dodging around equipment, Steadicam operators taking a seconds-long break before the next award, backstage reporters commenting on Jean Loring being only the second female Best Director winner.

Oliver tried to get through the crowd, but it was taking too long.  He could hear Martin Stein presenting the next award.

“Felicity Smoak, for  _ High Tide _ .”

At the sound of her name, Oliver stopped moving.  His eyes zeroed in on a monitor that showed the television broadcast, but he turned so he could see both the monitor and the stage.  Any thought of leaving vanished as he watched with bated breath as Martin opened the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to . . . Felicity Smoak,  _ High Tide _ !”

The theatre erupted in applause and cheers.  It seemed that everyone had been rooting for Felicity.  Just like he had.  Oliver clapped loudly, feeling a wave of pride.  Even if they could only be friends, he was happy for her.  Happy that she had achieved this.

Felicity looked very surprised, almost disgruntled for a moment, until she smiled.  Really smiled, her whole face lighting up, and Oliver sucked in a breath.  God, she was beautiful.

With the help of an usher, Felicity climbed the steps to the stage and stepped towards Martin Stein, who handed her the envelope and her Oscar with an amused smile.

There was a slight bobble on the handover, Felicity having to adjust her grip on the Oscar so she didn't drop it.  She turned to the mic with that same beaming smile on her face.

“Wow, they probably would have taken this away if I had dropped it.”

The audience laughed warmly and Felicity smiled, but Oliver sensed that she was barely holding herself together.  There was a manic edge to her movements, a fragility that made him want to step forward and help.

But he couldn't.  Because this was Felicity's moment.

“Thank you to the Academy and all its members for this honor,” Felicity began, gripping the statuette.  “Thank you to my director, Harrison, and my co-stars in  _ High Tide _ : Eddie, Kendra, Cisco and Jerry.  Thank you to my agent, Tommy, who has been in my corner since my first day in Hollywood.”

There was a pause, Felicity looking down at the award.  When she spoke again, her voice was less controlled, like she wasn't just speaking the thank-yous she had memorized.

“You know, awards are great, they really are.  I can't believe this is mine, after so much hard work.  But having this wouldn't mean as much if it wasn't for people like my mom, and my friends, and--and someone who is more than a friend, even if he doesn't think that's the case.  So now that I have this, I can find him and let him know how I feel.  In case he's not watching.  Um--thank you.”

Even from here, Oliver could see the sparkle of tears in Felicity's eyes.  It was clear she was emotional and overwhelmed.  Not unlike how he was feeling.

Felicity had been talking about him.  He knew that.  He was more than a friend to her.  But he thought she only wanted to be friends . . . 

He knew Felicity had been struggling with balancing all the different parts of her life.  And she hadn't dated much since she had started acting--maybe she was just as nervous as he was about trying to have something real and meaningful in the Hollywood fish bowl.  Especially since her last relationship had been with an actor--with that guy Cooper.  Maybe Felicity had been like him and her nerves had held her back.  But his feelings for Felicity had overpowered everything else.  

Had that just happened for her?  Was that what her speech was about?  

None of that mattered, though.  It didn’t matter if it all made sense, if he had an explanation now.  Because he had gotten a sign from Felicity.  And now that he knew how she felt . . . Oliver wasn't going to wait any longer to tell her how much he loved her.  

Felicity had gone stage right, heading towards the press room.  He had to get there.

As much as he wanted to just walk across the stage, award ceremony be damned, he knew security would take him out.  So without any guilt or attempts at being less disruptive, Oliver stalked through the backstage areas, moving towards the press room with the single-mindedness of a great white shark after his prey.

When he reached the door, the intern watching the room opened his mouth--probably to tell Oliver he couldn't go in there.  But Oliver just looked at the kid, and he shut his mouth.

“Thank you,” Oliver said, yanking open the door.

At the front of the room, Felicity was standing in front of a microphone, responding to the questions from the press.  But she was tapping her foot and shifting her Oscar from one hand to the other.

It was like she was just trying to get through the questions as fast as she could.  Maybe so she could find him?  But Oliver had found her first.

Each footstep felt momentous as he moved through the crowd of reporters.  He couldn't see anyone but Felicity.  His heart was pounding the closer he came to her.

Then she saw him, and it was like there was a live wire between them, crackling with electricity and desire and life.

Oliver stopped when he was only a foot away from her.  “I saw,” he told her quietly, looking into her eyes.  “I was watching.”

“Good,” she replied, sounding breathless.  “That's good.  Because you should know how I feel, and we really need to talk about that, there’s  _ so much _ to talk about, and--”

Felicity stopped talking abruptly and her eyes widened as Oliver cupped her face in his hands.

“Later.  All I need to say is I love you,” Oliver said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

A dazzling smile lit up her face.  “I love you, too.”

That was all the talking they needed for now.  Because he really needed to kiss her.

Perfectly synced, they moved towards each other.  When their lips met, Oliver closed his eyes and savored his dream coming true.  He felt Felicity's arms go around him, her Oscar heavy against his back.  The reporters were shouting questions and the cameras were flashing like mad.

But Oliver didn't care.  Nothing mattered except Felicity.  

End, Chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be a cute little epilogue, but there were a couple of things I wanted to wrap up--and Oliver and Felicity insisted on being super-fluffy and adorable. So voila, behold the final chapter of **Love is Red** , where we get to go full-circle on not just the movie, but on this fic. 
> 
> I so appreciate all the feedback and praise this fic has received; I had a blast writing it and it’s been so gratifying to hear how much y’all have enjoyed reading it. If you’d like to see Felicity’s dress, take a look at the [Pinterest board for this fic](https://www.pinterest.com/dettiot/love-is-red/)! 
> 
> A million thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, for her invaluable beta skills and her incredible knowledge about space and NASA. If you’ve enjoyed the movie script snippets, a lot of that enjoyment is due to Megan. Also thanks to andcreation, mysterioustwinkiepeas, and melsanfo, some of my best friends in the fandom who I was very happy to include in this fic in various ways. Also thanks to quiveringbunny and bigdeesmallworld, for the lovely graphics they created.
> 
> One final note: I told Megan that I was worried about the amount of fluff in this chapter, and she said I should just offer dental floss to counteract the tooth-rotting fluff. So please have your teeth-cleaning supplies at the ready so you can handle all this sweetness. :-)

 

Oliver slowly ran his thumb over Felicity's hand.  “Happy anniversary.”

Turning her head, Felicity looked at him and smiled softly.  “Our anniversary is in three days.  You're early.”

“We got together at the Oscars last year.  We're on our way to the Oscars now.  The date might not be the same, but this feels like our anniversary,” Oliver told her, lifting her hand to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

Before Felicity could respond, there was a groan from the seat across from them.  “Really, Ollie?” Thea asked.  “You think you can charm your way out of not remembering your anniversary?”

“It's not like that, Speedy,” he retorted.  “And I did remember.  It's pretty hard to forget one of the most important days of your life.”

“You two must have been awful on car trips growing up,” Felicity said lightly.  “If only TMZ or  _ Us Weekly _ could see this.”

Roy, sitting next to Thea, chuckled.  “You mean, 'Oscar-nominated star and his fashion designer sister: they're just like any other siblings!’?”

“Exactly,” Felicity said with a laugh, gently elbowing Oliver.

It was so good to hear Felicity laugh, even if it was partly at his expense, Oliver couldn't help smiling.  “Message received,” he told her, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

She turned her head as he started to pull away, her lips by his ear.  “Happy anniversary.  Because you're right, this does feel like our anniversary.”

Smiling widely at her, Oliver squeezed her hand.  That was one of the many things he loved about her: she understood him in ways he hadn't thought were possible.

Ever since the moment they had begun being a couple, in front of dozens of eyes--and in filmed footage that had been seen by millions afterwards--they had somehow navigated all the normal pitfalls that any new couple faced, while also having those pitfalls happen with a lot of people watching to see if this was what would break them up.  But proving the doubters wrong, they were still going strong.

In fact, this last year had been the best one of his life.  

Although he hadn't fully turned his back on action, Oliver was enjoying the challenge of playing different kinds of parts.  After his experience working with Felicity and being directed by Digg, he knew he was capable of more.  And without the financial pressure, he could afford to do projects he liked--such as the small indie movie he had just wrapped, about a man coping with the sudden death of his parents.  

It had been a cathartic experience, using his unresolved feelings about his own loss to fuel his character.  It could have been the start of a horrible spiral . . . if he hadn't been able come home to Felicity.

He was technically still living with Tommy, but he spent most nights at Felicity's house.  They had just started to talk about buying a house together, but given their busy lives, they weren't rushing things.  While he had been working on his indie, Felicity had been deep in prep on her next project, a historical drama about Ada Lovelace.  It was her passion project, and Oliver was very proud of the job she had done, packaging a script with a director and a production company.  She claimed she couldn't have done it without him, but Oliver knew she could have.

After all, you didn’t get nominated for an Oscar two years in a row, and win the first time, if you weren’t amazing.  Although Oliver had to admit, he was still wondering how he had been nominated, too.  

_ The Gravity of Love _ , which had been renamed  _ Love is Red _ after the preview screenings, had cleaned up with Oscar nominations.  Not only had both he and Felicity had been nominated, so had Digg for Best Director, Lyla for Best Original Script, and the movie was considered a definite contender for Best Picture.  

It was incredibly flattering to be nominated, but Oliver was more happy for everyone else.  For Digg and Lyla--even for Malcolm Merlyn, who as the producer of the film would take home the Best Picture Oscar if  _ Love is Red _ won.  But most of all, he was happy for Felicity.  Happy that her talent was being recognized so clearly, happy that she was developing the capital in Hollywood to do what she wanted.  After two nominations in a row, there would never be a need for her to take on another zany rom-com, the kind of movie she had confessed she hadn’t liked but had been forced to take because she had no other options.  Now she had nothing but options.  

And with all that, she was with him.  Maybe that was why he wasn’t even thinking about his nomination, hadn’t even really considered that he might win.  Because he already felt like a winner.  

“You’re doing it again.”  

Oliver looked at Felicity, whose expression was amused yet affectionate.  “You’re staring off into space with the smile.  The ‘how did I get so lucky?’ smile.  You know what that means.”  

“Do I have to?” he asked, moving closer to her.  He let go of her hand to slide his arm around her shoulders.  

“You know the rules, buster,” Felicity said, reaching out to play with his tie.  Her fingers ran up and down the material as she looked up at him through her lashes, and Oliver breathed out slowly.  

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Oliver recited, gazing into her eyes.  

Felicity smiled at him and leaned up to kiss him lightly.  “Yes,” she whispered against his lips.  “Someday you’re going to believe that.  And until then, I’m going to do everything I can to remind you.”  

“It might take a long time,” he told her, brushing his nose against hers.  

The smile she gave him was warm and loving and absolutely dazzling.  “I’ve got all the time in the world.”  

XXX

Seeing Oliver smile at her still made her tingle, even after a year of dating.  Because he had a special smile for her and her alone, and seeing it made her believe that this was real.  This was her life, where she had everything she wanted--it wasn’t a dream that she was going to wake up from.

Felicity might be poking at him to stop thinking of himself as lucky, as undeserving of what he had achieved, but she had her own moments of wondering how she had ended up here.  How she had found this man who seemed like he was made for her.  

And to think she had nearly lost him.  All because she had known herself so little, she didn’t know she was keeping him at arm’s length, didn’t realize how much she had put walls around her heart out of her fears and self-doubts.  

The losses she had suffered, the losses she had avoided instead of dealing with them . . . they had left scars on her psyche.  Scars she hadn’t realized she had, until faced with the prospect of Oliver.  And then, those scars had ruptured, spewing forth as many reasons to doubt what she saw and felt as there were grains of sand on the beach.  And just like sand in all the wrong places, she had been rubbed raw.  

But that night a year and three days ago, when she had taken the leap and told the whole world about the friend she didn’t consider to be just a friend . . . it had been the first step to having it all.  And yes, there had been fights about wet towels and holding back on the truth, but . . . but each of those fights had taught her something about herself--and about Oliver.  And they had made them a stronger couple.  

Here they were, in a limo on the way to the Oscars, a ceremony where they had both been nominated, Oliver looking ridiculously handsome in his tux and her wearing a dress that had been custom-made for her by a young, up-and-coming designer--a designer who happened to be sitting across from her--and Felicity felt so happy.  She had it all, in a way she never thought she would be able to, and it made her want to grab onto Oliver, onto the script for her Ada Lovelace project, onto Thea and Roy and Barry and Sara, and just hold on as tight as she could.  

“So everyone thinks you’re going to win again,” Oliver told her, the hand on her shoulder stroking against the beaded strap of her gown.  

“Who is everyone?” Felicity asked, lifting his hand from her shoulder.  If he kept playing with the straps of her dress, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions.  Because Oliver’s hands just brushing along the strap, smoothing over the skin of her shoulder . . . it was enough to set her on fire.  But Thea would kill her if anything happened to this dress.  It was the centerpiece of Thea’s first collection.  

Oliver chuckled.  “Everyone who thought you were going to win last year.  Myself included.”  

“You’re going to win, though,” Felicity said, gazing up at him.  

“I’m a long shot at best,” Oliver insisted, before stealing a soft kiss.  “And that’s not my self-esteem talking.  Everyone is betting on Bradley Cooper after he won the Golden Globe.”  

“You still haven’t told me who this ‘everyone’ is, and I don’t think they’ve all been taken in by that flashy, over-the-top performance of Bradley’s.  No offense to him, but it was a showy role.  It practically screamed Oscar bait," Felicity said, folding her arms over her chest.  

He gave her a grin.  “Because playing a gay teacher who gets lynched by a bunch of Southerners  _ is  _ Oscar bait.  But Bradley did an amazing job.”  

“You’re too nice,” Felicity said.  

“Words never before used about my brother,” Thea piped up, leaning forward to fuss with the skirt of Felicity’s dress.  “Felicity, don’t cross your arms.”  

“Such a slave driver,” Oliver whispered in her ear, making Felicity giggle.  

Thea glared at her brother but didn’t say anything.  And then, the door beside Oliver opened, filling the car with flashing lights and the buzz of conversation.  

“Here we go,” Oliver said, quickly kissing Felicity’s cheek before he slid out of the limo.  Felicity took a deep breath, gathering herself.  The red carpet was a necessary evil, but one that was a lot easier to get through while holding onto Oliver’s arm.  

She took his outstretched hand, carefully arranging the skirt of her dress so she didn’t step on it--or show off anything she shouldn’t--as she exited the limo.  And then, the flashbulbs went off even faster, the noise level increased by a factor of ten, and it felt like all eyes were on them.  

Oliver’s hand was on her back.  He leaned down and said, “Okay?”

Nodding, Felicity looked up at him and adjusted his tie a little.  “I”m good.”  

“Then let’s go,” he said with a smile, offering her his arm.  

Sometimes, she just had to marvel at her . . . boyfriend?  Lover?  Ugh, no, not lover.  Partner?  That was better.  But really, he was just her Oliver.  And she was amazed at how easy he made it to face anything and everything.  Whether it was dealing with the press, navigating the thicket of Hollywood, or just coping with her mother, he helped her meet those challenges head-on.  

Wrapping her fingers lightly around his arm, she smiled up at him.  “Yeah, let’s go.”

Followed by Thea and Roy, Felicity and Oliver began walking the red carpet, answering the questions they wanted to--who had designed Felicity’s dress, what Oliver’s next movie was about, were they excited about a possible Oscar sweep for  _ Love is Red _ tonight--and dodging the ones they didn’t want to answer.  Like if they were thinking about marriage.  

It wasn’t that the thought of marrying Oliver hadn’t occurred to Felicity.  It had.  A lot.  But it was one thing to wake up in the morning and look at Oliver as he slept, imagining doing it for the rest of her life, and it was something else to have Ryan or Giuliana asking in that gossipy way if they were hearing wedding bells.

There were some things that were private.  And somehow, they had managed to keep the important aspects of their relationship out of the press.  That was what Felicity wanted, especially tonight.  She wanted the focus to be on the movie, on the good chance of Oliver winning an Oscar, and on having to present for the first time.  

But she couldn’t wait to talk to Oliver tonight about buying a house together.  They had been putting it off because they were so busy.  But their schedules were always going to be crazy--they just needed to fit in house hunting.  She wanted to have a home with Oliver.  A home that they had made for themselves, together.  

XXX

Oliver shifted in his seat, trying not to look nervous.  Felicity had left a few minutes ago to get into position backstage.  As tradition dictated, Felicity would be presenting this year’s Best Actor Oscar as last year’s Best Actress winner.  And he knew she had high hopes--no, she fully believed that she would be presenting the trophy to him.  Oliver had tried to talk her out of such a belief, but she refused to be convinced otherwise.  

Yet sitting here . . . he found himself wishing for a moment that he might win.  Just so he would know he was Felicity’s equal.  Not that he didn’t already know that--a year of dating Felicity had certainly helped his self-esteem.  There was something about the idea of them having a his-and-hers Oscars, sitting on the mantel of a house they shared, that he really liked.

“Okay, Ollie?” Thea asked, leaning on to whisper in his ear. 

“Yeah . . . Just a bit nervous,” he told her before he tried to make a joke.  “I'm too far from the stage to prevent Felicity from starting a riot if I don't win.”

“You should be worrying about me, too--not just Felicity,” Thea said, resting her hand on his arm.  “You deserve this.  But you've got this.  Didn't I tell you that I knew we were going to be at the Oscars this year?”

Oliver felt the knot of nerves loosen as he smiled at her.  “You did say that.  Although how happy are you to be here as his date, not mine?”  He nodded towards Roy, who was talking to Sara. 

Thea’s smile grew even brighter.  “Thrilled,” she said, turning her head to look at Roy.  Oliver watched as the two of them shared a private smile, feeling a combination of happiness and worry.  Because he didn't want Thea to get hurt, but he knew that you had to take the risk if you wanted to be happy. 

At least it was clear Roy worshipped the ground Thea walked on.  And speaking as a man who didn't get to see his own girlfriend nearly enough, Oliver got to spend more time with Felicity while Thea was visiting, thanks to his sister’s new relationship with Roy. 

The music swelled and the announcer’s voice filled the auditorium.  “Please welcome last year's Best Actress winner, Felicity Smoak.”

Clapping loudly, Oliver watched as Felicity walked to the microphone, a happy smile on her face.  Just seeing her up there, hearing the applause for her, made Oliver beam. 

“Good evening.  The task of leading actor is not an easy one,” Felicity said, reading from the teleprompter.  “He is called upon to be the center of his film, in a performance that is riveting and nuanced, bold and dramatic.”

She paused and Oliver couldn't help feeling like she was talking to him.  But it had to be his imagination, he told himself as he clapped for his fellow nominees, before giving a sheepish smile to the camera when Felicity read his name. 

“And the Oscar goes to . . .” Felicity said, struggling a little with the envelope.  Oliver braced himself, knowing that he  already felt like a winner because he had Felicity.  That would be what he remembered  _ Love is Red _ for, not for--

“Oliver Queen,  _ Love is Red _ !”

A huge swell of applause seemed to lift Oliver up to his feet, like an ocean wave.  He looked down at Thea, who was clapping and beaming at him.  Roy and Sara were clapping, too, and hands pounded him on the back and someone said “Told you so!” that sounded like Tommy, and Felicity--

Felicity was standing on the stage, clapping and smiling and looking like she was about to cry.  And that was what made everything sink in for him. 

_ Holy shit _ , he had won! 

Moving down the aisle, accepting the smiles and handshakes and back slaps, Oliver kept his eyes on Felicity, who was now holding an Oscar--holding  _ his _ Oscar--in her hands.  A tear slipped down her cheek as he walked up the stairs and approached her, but oh, her smile made it clear that it was happy tears. 

“Told ya,” she whispered as she handed him the statuette. 

“You did,” he replied, taking it from her--why did it seem heavier than her statuette did?--with one hand, so he could wrap his other arm around her as he kissed her. 

The audience went wild, something Oliver was only dimly aware of, and then Felicity gently pushed against his chest.  “Give your speech!” she insisted, smiling at him as she wiped her eyes. 

He grinned at her and then stepped up to the mic.  Facing the theater full of his colleagues, Oliver felt their acceptance--something he had never realized he had really wanted.  It made him close his eyes for a moment before he began to speak. 

“Thank you to the Academy for this very unexpected honor.  I was sure that anyone but me was going to win, so this . . . this means a lot to me.  Um, thank you to Malcolm and Sebastian at Camelot, to my co-stars Sara and Barry and Roy and Walter.  Thank you to Lyla for her perfect script, and to John for his equally perfect direction.  Tommy, my agent and best friend, who has always believed in me.”

His time was almost up, but Oliver kept going.  “My sister, Thea, who told me we would be here like this, but who is very glad she has her own date tonight.”  He paused for the small laugh that line got, and then looked at Felicity. 

“And for Felicity, who . . . who's just everything,” he said in a choked voice, unable to find the words to fully describe her.  Not in the time he had left, not with how important she was.  But from the way her lower lip trembled, from the way her eyes shone with love and happiness, Oliver knew they were enough. 

Throwing one last “thank you” in the direction of the mic, Oliver crossed the stage to Felicity, not caring about the cameras, and wrapped his arms around her. 

And even though they both knew they had to get off the stage, Felicity hugged him back. 

XXX

Felicity couldn't help letting out a yawn as she snuggled up against Oliver.  His jacket was off, his tie was loosened with the top button of his shirt was undone, and best of all, his shirtsleeves were rolled up. 

If she wasn't so tired, and they weren't in the middle of the Governors’ Ball, Hollywood's biggest party of the year, she would totally have her way with him.  

Not that she wouldn't get to do that as soon as they got home . . . or maybe even in the car! 

Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his waist.  Oliver stopped talking to Digg, who hadn't let go of his Best Director Oscar all night, to look down at her. 

“Hey,” he said softly, stroking her hair.  “Partied out?”

“Getting there,” she replied, more than ready to be at home, in bed with Oliver, wearing one of his shirts instead of this very pretty, very form-fitting dress.  But she wanted Oliver to enjoy this moment.  Especially since it was his moment. 

Other than Digg and Oliver, only Lyla had won, for Best Original Script.  Along with a handful of technical Oscars,  _ Love is Red _ had been well-recognized, but it had lost out on Best Picture.  And contrary to Oliver's belief, she hadn't won Best Actress again. 

“Yeah, I'm hitting the wall, too,” Oliver said, brushing a kiss over the top of her head.  

For a few moments, Felicity savored this feeling.  Of the two of them, an eye of calm in the center of the storm, and she knew this was all she wanted for the rest of her life. 

“Are you upset about not winning?”

His question was softly spoken, the concern evident in his voice.  He was really worried about whether she was disappointed, and Felicity felt her heart beat extra hard at just how much she loved him. 

“No,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him.  “I'm so happy for you that I'm not even able to think about that.  Besides, I was rooting for Emily to win.  Ever since you told me that story about reciting rap lyrics in her plummiest accent.”

Oliver laughed and kissed the tip of her nose.  “If you had to lose, I'm glad it was because Emily won,” he agreed. 

“Exactly,” she said, curling in against him.  She looked up at him.  “Hey.”  

“Hey?” he replied with a slightly-confused smile.  

“We really need to start looking for a house.  Someplace with a big mantle for our Oscars,” Felicity said, tightening her arms around him.  

To her surprise, Oliver lifted her up out of her chair, depositing her in his lap.  “Y’know, I was thinking the same thing earlier.”  

“Well, great minds,” she told him, brushing her nose against his.  She slid a hand up to run her fingers over his jaw.  “And besides, I’m sure Tommy is tired of having you living with him.”  

“Tommy is fine with it, since Tommy never sees Oliver,” their agent piped up from the other side of the table with a grin.  Standing up, he walked over to them.  “I’m heading out.  You two are okay, obviously.”  

Felicity grinned at Tommy as Oliver shook his friend’s hand.  “Thank you, Tommy,” Oliver said, the words full of meaning.  

God, that was another thing she loved about him--how much he valued the people in his life and made sure they knew their importance to him.  

“You two are like brothers,” she said softly as Tommy walked away.  

“We are,” Oliver replied, turning to look at her.  “I couldn’t have done any of this without Tommy . . . and I couldn’t have done  _ Love is Red _ without you.”  

Sighing softly, Felicity leaned her forehead against his.  There were so many things she wanted to tell him--how happy she was for him, how much she wanted to work with him again, how she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him--but there were only three words that could sum up all those hopes and dreams and wishes.  “I love you.”    

“I love you,” he echoed softly, his eyes so deep and blue, she wanted to dive into them and never ever leave.  

Since they were in public, Felicity made herself just peck his lips softly yet sweetly.  “So I think we’re ready to go, right?  Where’s Thea and Roy?”

“They decided to go check out the Vanity Fair party,” Oliver replied.  “They took a car over there, so we still have the limo.”  

“Excellent, so we can go right home,” Felicity said, straightening up on his lap.

Oliver’s hands rubbed against her hips.  “Actually . . .”

“Yes?” Felicity asked with a quirked eyebrow.    

“You know, we never have done the post-awards show trip to Big Belly that you promised me at last year's Golden Globes,” Oliver said, a soft, lazy smile appearing on his face.  One that made her want to squirm, while at the same time, her taste buds and stomach did a little happy dance at the thought of a Belly Buster, fries, and a shake.

“That’s true . . .” she said, leaning forward.  “But there’s a problem with this idea.”

He looked incredibly skeptical, which made Felicity want to laugh.  Because skeptical was a good look on Oliver.  “There is?”

Felicity nodded, schooling her face with a serious expression.  “Yes.  Big Belly isn’t very good cold, and there are things I want to do with you--or maybe to you, I haven’t decided yet--that I need to happen first.”  Dropping the serious act, Felicity adopted her best come-hither gaze and pouted her lips.  “I’m all confused, Oliver.”  

To her complete delight, Oliver snorted and pulled her closer to him.  “Can I offer a counter-argument?”

“Mmmm, yes, please,” she said against his lips, using her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as well as feel him up.  

“We should eat first, so you have plenty of strength for what  _ I  _ want to do with you.”  

There was a reason Oliver had been named People’s Sexiest Man Alive twice.  Because he was, and there was no way Felicity could resist him when he looked at her like  _ that  _ with those eyes, and he touched her like  _ that  _ with those hands, and when he suggested getting her favorite fast food as fuel for epic sex on the night when he had just won an Academy Award.

“Right, let’s go,” Felicity said, untangling herself from him and trying to stand up on her very shaky legs.  

Oliver let out a soft chuckle, gracefully standing up as he steadied her.  “Okay, Felicity.”

As they walked out, Felicity knew a few photographers had gotten photos of them: her carrying her shoes and the train of her dress in one hand, while her other hand held Oliver’s, who was carrying his Oscar in his free hand.  Most of the photographers had been behind them, capturing what was a sweet moment and nothing else.

But one photographer had been in front of them, and had gotten their faces.  And for the rest of her life, it would be Felicity’s favorite photo not just of herself, but of herself with Oliver.  Because their smiles, their eye contact, the way their fingers were laced together . . . it said everything there was to say about them.  

Felicity immediately bought the rights to the photo.  And on the day she and Oliver were married, in the backyard of their house, that photo greeted their guests as they arrived.

XXX

EXT. -- MARS

KEVIN and CLAIRE walk on the surface of Mars in their space suits, each of them carrying a crate of supplies in one hand.  After a few steps, they reach the crest of a ridge and pause.  One of them reaches out to take the other’s hand.  

CLAIRE

Isn’t it beautiful?

KEVIN is looking at her as he replies.

KEVIN

It is.  

CLAIRE turns and realizes he was looking at her.  She smiles at him.  She tugs on his hand and starts pulling him towards the habitat in the near distance.  

CLAIRE

C’mon.  Gravity awaits.  And you know what that means.

KEVIN and CLAIRE both laugh, the laughter audible over their in-helmet communication link, as they pick up their pace.  

FADE OUT.

THE END

  
  



End file.
